


The Narrow Margin, Book One

by MillicentCordelia



Series: The Narrow Margin: The Story of Oswald and Jim [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Necrophilia (re: Victor), Obsession, Original Character(s), Romance, Voyeurism, mild bondage, references to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:16:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 73,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2853833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillicentCordelia/pseuds/MillicentCordelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gotham-a magnet for lowlifes, losers, and would-be heroes- has become Jim Gordon's personal hell. How can love flourish against a backdrop of violence and corruption? Will "love conquer all", or is Jim and Oswald's romance fated to end in tragedy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. While the City Sleeps

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at fanfiction. The Devil made me do it. The name of the fic, and the name of each chapter, is the name of a Film Noir. The fic begins after episode 5.

Stepping out of the car, Jim looked back at the lights of Gotham, sparkling in the distance. He stretched and yawned. It had been a long drive, down unfamiliar roads- many of them badly in need of repair. He then turned to stare in dismay at the ruined mansion. Even in semi-darkness, the Victorian Gothic masterpiece looked like it would collapse if he kicked it. He was baffled as to why his sister, Anna, had bought the place and undertaken its renovation. It would require a fortune to restore a wreck like this one to its former glory.

Carelessly strewn gravel crunched beneath his feet as he approached the front entrance.  
Before he could knock, Anna threw the door open, and pulled him inside. He found himself standing in a foyer, which opened onto a once grand ballroom.

Anna handed him a flashlight, and led him to a staircase that looked none too safe. “Your room is on the second floor, on the right”. He tried to hold his breath as he ascended the stairs, since every step raised a cloud of dust.

The room he entered was empty of furniture, and lit by antique gaslights. It was freshly wallpapered in a style he thought of as “Baroque Vampire Whorehouse." When he opened the door to what he thought was a closet, he encountered another set of stairs; curious, he couldn’t resist exploring them. The stairs turned right, then left, becoming more narrow; the ceiling became lower and lower until he was forced to climb on hands and knees through layers of cobwebs. At the top was an opening with boards nailed over it. He pried the boards loose. The opening was so small, he could barely squeeze through it. He went through headfirst and tumbled onto a carpeted floor. This room was large, and brilliantly lit by a light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Everything in the room was a bright, blinding white. In the center of the room was a canopied bed; draped with diaphanous curtains that moved gently from a wind Jim couldn’t feel.

What he did feel was joy. He couldn’t remember when he’d felt so completely happy, and so at peace. He walked towards a glowing window, and noticed he wasn’t alone. Someone stood there, looking out; the person’s back was to him. Jim’s heart leapt; he reached out-

The alarm went off, and Jim sat upright in bed, wet with sweat, almost hyperventilating. It took him a moment to realize that he was back in the real world. The dream was always the same. He’d had it over and over, several times a week, for months.

He hated that dream; it taunted him. He smacked the alarm clock, pulled on a ratty terrycloth bathrobe, and walked to the window. It was pouring rain, as usual, rain that never washed away one bit of the gray grime that clung to Gotham like a curse. Welcome back to reality: a thankless job, disillusionment, and loneliness.

The more Jim tried to do the right things, the crazier and more screwed up his life seemed to get. He’d come to Gotham to right wrongs; to be the honest man his father could have been, but wasn’t. All he’d managed to do so far was alienate almost everyone he’d come into contact with.

Captain Essen had ordered him to take a week off, and once he got used to the idea, he decided that perhaps a quiet, uneventful “time out” might be good for him.

By late afternoon, Jim was feeling more relaxed. A lengthy run had burned off a good measure of anxiety, and he finally had time to finish unpacking. He’d just moved into a low rent apartment on the seventh floor of a gray, featureless building. Not much to look at; but he needed his own place, so Barbara could devote herself to “sorting things out”.

He knew that Barbara’s version of “sorting things out” consisted of sleepovers with her off/again, on/again girlfriend, Renee. Jim felt guilty that he was relieved rather than hurt. He cared deeply for Barbara; she’d been his best friend for a long time. She was sweet, gorgeous, funny, smart-the list went on and on. Problem was, he felt no more passion for her than she did for him; and he had started to feel more alone with her than without her.

He was envious of what Barbara had with Renee. For all their issues, they were in love. Jim had loved more than one woman, but he had never been “in love” with any of them. He wondered if he just hadn’t met the right person- or if something was wrong with him. He’d never been involved in a relationship that he couldn’t walk away from. When he was 21, he’d seen that as a blessing. Fifteen years down the road, it looked more like a curse.  
Jim was settled in for the evening, stretched out on his bed reading Raymond Chandler’s “The Long Goodbye”. He enjoyed reading about people whose lives were even more fucked up than his. Across the street from his building was a cheap hotel, which boasted a neon sign worthy of the Las Vegas strip. Even with the blinds closed, it managed to bathe his bedroom in lurid shades of orange and green.  
When the phone rang, he let the answering machine pick up.  
He heard the poisonously smooth, confident voice of Don Maroni.

“Detective Gordon, I hope you get this message. I’m counting on you being my guest for dinner tonight, around seven, shall we say? My chef has created some new entrees, and I’m sure you’ll find one to your liking.”


	2. On Dangerous Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Circumstances bring Jim and Oswald together. Their encounter leaves Jim feeling like he's losing his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I would be your slave."- Emily Bronte; "Wuthering Heights"

Jim tossed his book aside-he had been summoned, and “No thanks” was not an option. So he showered and shaved, put on a decent suit, and headed for Maroni’s restaurant. Upon arriving, he told the smiling Maître-d his name, and was quickly ushered to a dimly lit back room. There, at a small round table, were three chairs-one already occupied by a very nervous looking Oswald Cobblepot. Oswald’s face was still discolored from the beating he had taken a week earlier. Jim sat next to Oswald and struggled to control his feelings. He felt angry at Maroni; angry with Cobblepot, who gave Jim a weak smile; angry at the world. Jim whispered, “Are you all right?” Oswald nodded, unconvincingly, and then Maroni was there.

“Detective Gordon, so glad you could make it! Do try the wine; it’s an excellent vintage. May I propose a toast? To mutual prosperity!” Jim raised his glass without enthusiasm, while Oswald’s hand shook ever so slightly. Jim looked Maroni in the eye. “What is it you want from me?” 

“You get right to the point! I like that about you.” Maroni slid an envelope across the table. “In this, you’ll find a list of a few items that need to vanish from the evidence room you have access to. One of my dear friends is being accused of some inconsequential wrongdoings, and I want those charges dismissed. We both know that Falcone has most of the police force in his pocket, so I don’t have many friends where you work. ” He had to admit Maroni was right on that score. “The trial is in three weeks, and I think that evidence needs to disappear-right before the trial.” Jim said calmly: “Fine. Anything else?” Maroni looked mildly surprised. “Not at the moment. “ 

“Good”, Jim responded. “I’ll do what you ask. But, could you do me a favor? Maybe you could quit beating the crap out of Cobblepot here on a regular basis. ” Don Maroni seemed genuinely puzzled. He sat for a long moment, looking from one man to the other. Finally, he laughed out loud. “Of course, Detective. That’s a reasonable request- provided Oswald behaves himself, and I’m sure he will. You must excuse me, now, gentlemen. Enjoy your meal!” 

Jim glared at Maroni’s retreating figure. “I don’t give a good God-damn what that son of a bitch thinks. “ Oswald looked at Jim with something like astonishment. “ I’m all right, really-and I deserved what I got, for letting my ego get the better of me. But I’m not worried. Things are going to change, soon, and drastically.” 

“Taking life’s lemons and making lemonade, is that it? It’s more like making lemonade from horseshit.” Oswald studied Jim cautiously, while Jim drained his glass. An attentive waiter brought them what was, truly, exceptionally good food; and Jim, suddenly starving, tucked into his meal with enthusiasm. “You should eat, Oswald; you look thin”. “Great”, he thought, “now I sound like the guy’s grandmother.”

“I thought you were sorry you didn’t kill me when you had the chance.” Oswald lowered his eyes, and looked up at Jim from underneath a fringe of dark lashes.

“Oh, I am sorry-every minute of every day. If I reached across the table and killed you right now, my life would be much less wretched. But we both know I won’t do that don’t we? 

“Of course you won’t, because you’re a good person, James, I haven’t had a chance to properly thank you; or to apologize, or .....” Jim interrupted Oswald. “You don’t owe me any thanks; Maroni was going to kill me, as well as you, if our stories didn’t match up. And since I’m sure you’d do the same thing over again if you had the chance-why apologize?”

Throughout the meal, Jim tried to keep from staring at his dinner partner. Surreptitiously, Jim stole glances at Oswald’s fine bone structure and blue-gray eyes. His hands, in particular, fascinated Jim; Oswald’s hands were pale, delicate, sensitive, even beautiful.................

Finally, Oswald said: “I have to go back to work.....perhaps we can talk....later?”

Jim stood up. “Sure. Later.” 

Oswald followed him outside, holding up an umbrella to protect Jim from the rain. “I’m not Fish Mooney, you don’t need to hold an umbrella for me.” Jim turned around so suddenly, Oswald nearly ran into him. “What the hell do you want from me? You want me to slam you into a wall again?”

“No. I just want you to......not hate me.” Oswald looked so forlorn, Jim felt guilty for yelling at him.

“Christ in a sidecar, Oswald! All right, I don’t hate you. Happy now?”

Jim slammed the car door more forcefully than he needed to. As he pulled away from the curb, he caught a glimpse of Oswald in the rearview mirror- standing in the rain, looking wistful and...........something else. Maybe it was Jim’s imagination, or the rain, or a trick of the light-but Jim could have sworn there was something else in Oswald’s eyes. He was looking at Jim as if he would do anything, absolutely anything, for him.

Twenty Christs in twenty sidecars couldn’t make Jim forget that look.

On the way home, his thoughts ran in a loop. “This is it. I’ve finally lost my mind. I’m completely fucking insane. Stark raving mad.” He felt like putting his fist through a wall; he settled for throwing himself down on the sofa. He lay in the dark listening to the rain; wishing that he was anywhere in the world except Gotham; and that he could think about anything, anything at all, other than how much he wanted Oswald to touch him with those pale, delicate hands.


	3. In a Lonely Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim can't shake his obsession with Oswald.

Morning brought with it the feeble, yellowish haze that passed for a sunny autumn day in Gotham. Jim went running, hoping he could out run the chaos in his head. He ran through the city, block after block, so preoccupied he was hardly aware of his surroundings. When he finally stopped to stretch and catch his breath, he realized where he was. 

Amongst the dingy buildings on the other side of the street was the one where Oswald Cobblepot’s mother lived. He’d overheard Montoya and Allen talking about their visit to Mrs. Kapelput. He wondered what she was like, what the apartment was like. He was curious, why shouldn’t he be? It was purely professional curiosity. 

He had his badge with him. By coincidence, of course.

Gertrude had begrudgingly allowed him to come in, and was now peering at him suspiciously. The apartment smelled of dust, mold, and old cooking smells. “You have found something out about my Oswald?” 

“No ma’am. In the case of a missing person, it sometimes helps to get to know more about them. Get a feel for who they are. Does he have a room here?”

The phone rang while she led him to the door of her son’s room. Soon she was engrossed in a conversation, muttering and cackling, probably with some other strange crone.

Oswald’s room was maybe the size of a walk in closet, barely accommodating a twin bed, a desk and a file cabinet. The walls were covered with drawings, sketchbook pages that had been torn out and thumbtacked to the walls; and sketchbooks were stacked on the desk. Most of the drawings were sensitive, finely detailed renderings of birds and plants. There were some cityscapes, but no depictions of people. 

In a narrow closet were several adult sized suits; one very worn, very small suit that was child sized; and a cardboard box filled with comic books. 

The file cabinet held a hodge podge of papers- report cards with excellent grades, a high school diploma from adult night school; a few photographs of Oswald as a child- a painfully small boy with a crooked smile and sad eyes. In the back, a stuffed animal that might have been a rabbit-it’s fake fur worn and matted; and a manila envelope that Jim opened. 

It took Jim a moment to realize what he was seeing-A birth certificate that listed no father. Copies of papers that Gertrude had signed when Oswald was born, to give her baby up for adoption. More papers documenting that Gertrude had regained custody of Oswald when he was ten-because he hadn’t been adopted, and had spent a decade in foster care. 

Jim felt sick.

Stuffing the papers back in the file cabinet, he began to flip through the sketchbooks. He looked up to see Gertrude standing in the doorway. “My son, he is very talented, don’t you see?” She smiled at Jim. “Those other police, they didn’t spend much time here. You are a good man, I think, not like them.”

“Mrs. Kapelput, thank you. We’ll find your son-I’m sure of it”. He couldn’t get back outside quickly enough. 

That night he went out drinking with Harvey and some other cops, to regain a sense of being in touch with reality- a reality that didn’t include obsessing about Oswald Cobblepot. After a few drinks, and then a few more, Jim had almost convinced himself that the confusing mix of feelings he had regarding Cobblepot was simply pity. Cobblepot’s life sucked, so what. Join the club.

When the bar closed, he decided to walk the few blocks home. He passed another bar, still open; and standing in the doorway, with his back to Jim, was Oswald. Jim was about to say something, when “Oswald” turned around turned out to be a woman with short, jet-black hair. 

Shaken, Jim hurried on his way. He didn’t notice the shadow following him at a discreet distance.


	4. Undercurrent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim can't stop thinking about Oswald. Oswald stalks Jim.

Inside, Jim lay down on the bed. He was hoping he’d consumed enough alcohol so that he could just pass out, but it wasn’t his lucky night. He thought about Oswald. About the day on the docks, when Oswald had groveled, pleading for his life. How, to his horror, Jim felt aroused as Oswald whimpered and begged for mercy. 

When Oswald offered to be his slave for life, it shook Jim. It got under his skin. It turned him on. Not knowing what else to do, Jim screamed at Oswald, told him to shut up. 

The minute Jim got home, he’d felt guilty- for all he knew, the pale, terrified man had drowned. Over the next few weeks, Jim had been tormented by the thought that maybe the poor bastard really was dead. At the same time, he didn’t stop himself from indulging in fantasies about Oswald that made him feel like the lowest life form on the planet. 

By the time Oswald showed up at Barbara’s apartment, Jim had been torn apart by guilt. He was overjoyed to see that Oswald was alive- but he couldn’t show it; so he gritted his teeth, and yelled at him. Slammed him up against a wall, all the time hating himself for doing so. The anger was real-except it was anger at himself, not Oswald.

Jim had never felt attracted to a man before. He was blindsided by the way his body responded to even thinking about Oswald, and now it was becoming more complicated. Oswald was a complex human being, and Jim was beginning to respond to him on an emotional level. 

He thought Oswald might reciprocate his feelings, but he wasn’t sure. What if he did? Then what? Jim had never even kissed a man. He’d be like a dog chasing a car- then catching the car and having no idea what to do next. There were a few other small problems, as well- such as the fact that Oswald was a gangster, he was supposed to be dead, and Jim was supposed to have killed him. 

Maybe a walk would clear his head. He was out of coffee, a good enough reason to walk to the closest all night convenience store. The cool air felt good; but after walking a couple of blocks, he felt something was wrong. He had a gut feeling he was being watched. He entered the store, a hole in the wall run by a guy named Andre. A few words, then Andre let Jim in the back of the store so he could use the side exit into the alley.

Jim stood in the shadows, waiting. Sure enough, after a few minutes had passed, a man wearing jeans and a gray hoodie started to walk past the alley; paused, entered the alley and slumped against the wall-where he could easily see anyone exiting the store. Jim drew his gun and barked, “Turn around!” Startled, the man jumped -and turned in such a way that he slipped on the rain-slick asphalt, landing on his back. Jim approached cautiously-and then saw who it was. 

“Hello, James.” Oswald smiled, shakily, as he struggled to get up. 

“No, wait.” Jim put away his weapon; and put his arms around Oswald, lifting him to his feet. “Here, lean on me. Are you hurt? You didn’t fall on your bad leg, did you? ”

“ I’m not sure. I apologize for my clumsiness.” Oswald was trembling. 

“I’m not going to hurt you. Here, try to walk.” Oswald’s limp was noticeably worse. Jim exhaled. “Ok, where are you staying?”

“I rent a room-near the restaurant.”

“You can’t walk all the way back there. How’d you get here, anyway?”

“I took a cab.”

“Hold on to my arm. We’re not far from my building- which you know, because you’ve been stalking me-my car is parked in the lot there.”

Oswald clung to Jim’s arm. “Thank you, James.”

“Well, I have so few stalkers; I figure I’d better take good care of you. Life wouldn’t be the same without you skulking around.”

Jim wasn’t sure he should be driving-but the adrenaline rush had sobered him up considerably. He drove slowly, and the streets were practically empty. 

“So tell me why you were following me.”

“I need to know where you live-in case I need to get in touch with you. I forgot to ask you for your phone number. “

“Bullshit!” Jim laughed. “You knew I wouldn’t give it to you. Nice disguise, by the way. Worked so well I nearly shot you.”

Jim pulled onto the side street Oswald indicated. He reached across the front seat for the glove box; Oswald shrank back. “Damn it, Oswald; stop acting like you think I’m going to hit you. I’m looking for something to write on so we can exchange phone numbers. Just don’t call me unless it’s important.”

“That’s truly kind of you! I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, James; including the ride home.”

Jim looked at Oswald; he wondered what Oswald would do if he got up the nerve to try to kiss him. Instead, Jim stuck out his hand. Oswald shook his hand enthusiastically. “You’re a real friend, James!” Then, he was gone. 

On the drive home, Jim thought about how good it had felt to have his arms around Oswald. 

It was the last thing he thought about that night, before he finally fell asleep.


	5. The Killing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim can't stand any more vacation, so he goes back to work. Bad idea.

After three days off, Jim couldn’t stand any more free time. He walked into the police station, hoping to sneak quietly to his desk. Harvey spotted him immediately. “Behold! The Prodigal Son Returns! I’ve been so lonely without you, Jim-just me, and this mountain of mother humpin’ paperwork.”

“Keep it down, willya? I’m not supposed to be here.”

Captain Essen walked out of her office. “Jim? Can I see you for a moment?”

Jim followed her into the office. “What the hell are you doing here? I told you to take a week off. A week. Maybe go visit your sister in California. You need some time off, and that was an order.”

“I was going crazy, spinning my wheels-what I need is to get back to work. Please?”

“Just for today, and that’s final. Then you stay home the rest of the week. No arguments.”

“I promise! Thanks, I owe you.” 

Jim happily returned to his desk, on which Harvey had placed half the stack of paperwork. After a few minutes, Harvey looked at Jim suspiciously. “So how come you ain’t at home relaxin’?”

“Harvey, I was antsy. Too much time off.”

“You’re nuts. There’s no such thing. I’ll bet you were thinkin’ about Barbara, cause you can’t get her out of your system.”

“Yeah, you’re right, that was it”. 

“I’ll tell you what you oughta do.” Harvey lowered his voice. “You oughta get yourself a hooker for the night. Take your mind off your ex.” Jim was well aware that Harvey thought hookers were the cure for all of life’s problems.

“Thanks, I’ll think about it”. 

It was a quiet morning. The paperwork gradually dwindled. At noon, Jim volunteered to go pick up lunch from Harvey’s favorite Greek place. After placing the order, he noticed there was a new liquor store next door. He wandered in, to check out their prices and kill some time while he was waiting. The woman behind the counter was middle aged, short, and almost as wide as she was tall. She wore a flowered Mumu, and there was a hot pink plastic hibiscus tucked behind one ear. 

There was only one other patron, an expensively dressed young woman with a baby in her arms, checking out a wine display. Jim heard the bell ring that announced someone else had entered the store. He looked up to see a skinny, pale young man waving a handgun. The woman with the baby screamed. 

“Shut up! Both of you stand over here.” He waved the gun at Jim and the young woman. “Gimme all the cash out of that register.” The Mumu woman started to put the cash in a paper bag; the robber caught her trying to reach under the counter. 

“What the fuck you doin’, tryin’ to set off an alarm?” The robber shot her in the leg, and she went down. He turned to the young woman. “Get over here and bag that cash, or you’ll get the same.”

“Here, let me do it.” Jim wanted to get closer to the man; the way the guy was sweating and twitching, he figured him for a junkie who was in a bad way. 

“I told HER to do it! SHUT UP!” The woman laid the baby on the floor. She obeyed the robber, tears running down her face. When the register was empty, the robber said to her: “Get over here, you’re coming with me. You’re my insurance.”

“No, please, no!” she sobbed. 

“So how about I shoot you and the baby? The baby first?”

The robber’s full attention was on the woman. Jim seized the opportunity to draw his gun. “GCPD! Put down your weapon!”

The robber pointed his gun at the baby. Jim fired. 

The bullet tore through the man and he fell, dropping the gun. 

Jim ran to the clerk, as he addressed the other woman. “I need you to stay calm and call 911 while I try to stop her bleeding.” The young woman grabbed for the phone, while the baby screamed. The clerk wasn’t badly injured. The junkie died before Jim heard the first sirens.

Hours later, Jim sat at his desk, exhausted. Harvey patted his shoulder. 

“Those guys from Internal Affairs and the SBI took forever to interview you. You ok? Killin’ that dirtbag didn’t shake you up, did it?”

“Nah, I’m fine, just tired. And now there’s more paperwork.”

“Get some rest. And remember what I said about findin’ yourself some company.” Harvey leered, and left for the night.

“Jim?” It was Sarah again. Jim went into her office, and sat down. “You did the right thing; the investigation won’t take long. You’ll be on desk duty for a few days next week, and I want you to see the psychologist when you get back. Don’t make that face, it’s standard procedure.”

“Yeah, I know”.

“Jim, there’s something else.” Jim leaned forward.

“Tell me if this is none of my business. Or if this is too much information.” Sarah closed the door to her office. “I know Renee pretty well, and I know she’s seeing Barbara again. She and Barbara have been through a lot together; so have you and Barbara. I know it’s complicated. So I wanted to share something with you. My husband and I have been married for 15 wonderful years. One of the things we have in common is that we both like men.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously!” Sarah laughed. “Al is my best friend. We adore each other, and we have the same philosophy of life: friendship lasts, romance doesn’t. Neither of us seemed to have good judgment when it came to picking boyfriends. After we both got our hearts broken a few times, we decided that a marriage based strictly on friendship was our best shot at lasting happiness. We’re both free to date men, discreetly, as we please. At the end of the day, we each know-we’ve got a loving friend to come home to. We adopted two children; Al’s an amazing father. We have the best of all worlds. I’m sharing this with you just to say-there’s more than one way to live your life, to work things out.”

“Sarah, I appreciate this. It means a lot to me, to have a friend I can trust, who won’t judge me. There’s no one I can talk to about Barbara.”

“I know you’re tired tonight. But anytime you want to talk...” She shrugged. “Now, go home, and don’t let me see you again until next week.”

Once he got home, Jim was almost too tired to walk to the bed. He threw his clothes over a chair, and lay down. He couldn’t stop picturing the dead junkie lying in an ever-widening pool of blood, his lifeless eyes staring at nothing. The clerk and the young woman had told Jim he was a hero. Jim didn’t feel like a hero-he felt like a killer. He also knew if he stayed in law enforcement, it wouldn’t be the last time he killed someone. Without Barbara around, there wasn’t even anyone to talk to about it.

It was one hell of a life.

He thought about calling Oswald. Or maybe he should just go up to the roof of the building and jump off.

That night, he had the dream again.


	6. Fallen Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald shows up at Jim's apartment. Jim summons the courage to act on his feelings for Oswald.

The next few days were blessedly uneventful. Saturday evening found Jim lying on the sofa in sweatpants and an old tee shirt, watching a DVD, as yet another storm rolled in. 

Thunder grumbled as the storm increased in intensity. Then, another sound-footsteps, in the hallway, that stopped outside his door. A soft knock- and someone calling his name. He knew that voice. He opened the door -and found himself staring at Oswald, who was standing there with a broken umbrella, soaking wet, clutching a brown paper bag.

“You do realize that coming here is liable to get us both killed. Oh, to hell with it, come in.”

Oswald slunk through the door. “You’re so kind, really, I just wanted to give you this, a sort of house-warming gift, and my umbrella turned inside out.........”

“All right”, Jim growled, “take your clothes off”.

Oswald froze, for once speechless. 

“I mean, you’re soaked to the skin, and so cold you’re turning blue. Go in the bathroom and undress, I’ll get you some hangers to put your clothes on so they can dry out, and here...here’s a bathrobe.”

A few minutes later, Oswald emerged in the several sizes too large bathrobe; Jim smiled despite his best efforts not to. He produced two glasses, and opened the bottle of bourbon Oswald had brought, resigned to the fact that his uninvited guest was going to be there a while. Oswald curled up at one end of the couch. The only light in the room was from the muted TV. The bluish glow gave his pale skin a pearlescent sheen, and turned the bruises on his face ghastly greens and violets.

“James, I came to tell you-that friend of Don Maroni’s won’t be needing your help. He’s quite dead.”

Jim raised his eyebrows. 

“Oh no, James, I had nothing to do with it. Natural causes- a stroke, I think. You weren’t going to comply with Maroni’s request anyway, were you?”

“No, but I couldn’t tell him that, and I hadn’t figured a way out of it. Let’s drink a toast to Maroni’s friend, who was gracious enough to die at the right moment.” Jim paused to empty his glass and pour himself another. “So, what do you think of my palatial residence?”

‘It’s really rather.....um, quaint”. Oswald eyed the web of cracks in the plaster walls, and the hodge-podge of second hand furnishings. 

“And squalid. I call the décor “20th century slum.”

“I must apologize for imposing on your privacy. Are you angry that I’m here?”

“No, not really. I’m just angry in general.” Jim sighed and rubbed his face. “I wish you could be honest with me, though. I’m pretty sure you broke that umbrella yourself, and stood in the rain until you were nearly drowned, so I’d feel sorry for you and invite you in. 

During the ensuing moment of uncomfortable silence, the power went out, and the two men found themselves sitting in the dark. “I’ve got a flashlight and some candles around here somewhere....” Jim fumbled around in the kitchen, then lit a candle, and set it on the coffee table. “Now we can tell ghost stories. Or I could tell you the story of my life”.

“Please do.” 

“I’ll give you the short version. Boarding school, military academy, the army, survived combat, became a cop. Now I’m a delusional workaholic with few friends, my co-workers hate me, and I manage to ruin every relationship I get into. I have bad dreams, I drink too much, and someone I was supposed to kill is sitting on my couch wearing my bathrobe. How about you?”

Oswald stared at the candle. 

“ I don’t remember having a childhood-I think I was always a small adult. I hated school, started working when I was 15, making deliveries, for one of the “families.” My mother had to quit her job. There were some bad years when the doctors couldn’t get her medications right. I had to remove all the mirrors, because she would stand in front of them screaming and screaming. It disturbed the neighbors.”

“Damn, Oswald. That must have been tough. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Silence. Jim hesitated. “Oswald, why are you here?”

“Because you let me in, James. Because you were too kind to turn me away.”

Jim was dimly aware of the sound of sleet pelting the windows. 

“Ok, I get it-I’m a saint.” The power came back on; the TV flickered. Jim noticed that Oswald was shivering. “I’m a saint, but a lousy host. It’s freezing in here. Jim opened a trunk and tossed Oswald a blanket. It’ll warm up now that the heat’s back on. “ He freshened his drink, and Oswald’s.

Oswald scooted closer to Jim. “What movie were you watching?”

“Out of the Past. It’s about a woman who’s a psycho killer, who destroys all the men she gets involved with. I was in the mood for something uplifting.”

Oswald smiled. “Sounds perfect”.

Jim started the DVD over, and sat back down-a little closer to Oswald than he ought to. He liked Oswald, he couldn’t help it, and he was tired of fighting it. The film was one of Jim’s favorites, and Oswald kept laughing at him because he could recite the dialogue along with the characters. 

Every so often, their shoulders would touch; then they would pull back, as if to reassure each other that it was just an accident. As the movie ended, Jim spoke.

“Oswald?”

“Yes?”

“Oswald, I need to tell you something.” 

Oswald’s heart sank. He moved away from Jim, because he suspected what was coming next: Jim was going to ask him to leave, and never come back. He braced himself. 

“Oswald-you smell expensive. No, I mean-you don’t smell cheap. Your cologne.” Jim fumbled. “ You smell good. Really good.” Jim moved closer. “I know I’m not making any sense. I need to tell you how sorry I am that I pushed you off that dock. I didn’t know what else to do. Later I thought about how your leg was broken, and I didn’t know if you knew how to swim, and I was so afraid you’d drowned. Please forgive me.” 

Oswald looked at Jim as if he’d just grown horns and a third eye. Whatever he’d expected, this wasn’t it. Jim’s genuine distress took him completely off guard.

“James, that was all my fault, not yours; there’s nothing to forgive............” Oswald turned and put a hand on Jim’s arm, in what he hoped was a comforting gesture; and as he turned, the robe fell open just far enough to reveal Oswald’s damaged leg. Jim reached out and put his hand on Oswald’s knee-then ran his hand down the disfigured limb to the ankle, and back up again. Oswald looked stricken.

Jim put his other arm around Oswald’s shoulders. “Did I hurt you?”

“No; but, it’s...hideous. Now you know how ugly it is. I never saw a doctor, and it didn’t heal properly.” 

Jim leaned closer until his lips brushed Oswald’s ear, and whispered, “Nothing about you is ugly.” Oswald turned his face to Jim’s, eyes closed, while Jim wound one hand in his dark, soft hair, pulling him into a kiss that was excruciatingly tender, and Oswald’s mouth tasted of all the sweetness that ever was or ever could be. 

Jim gathered Oswald in his arms, picked him up, and carried him into the bedroom.


	7. Kiss Me Deadly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Oswald spend the night together for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a difficult chapter to write. I figured their first encounter would be awkward; they don't have any experience with each other, and Jim is worried that he'll come across as incompetent. At the same time, I wanted it to be more romantic than explicit; to have a certain sweetness to it, just because they're so happy to be with each other.

The bedroom was eerily lit, by the garish neon glow that streamed in through the blinds.

Oswald had completely given up trying to make sense of Jim’s behavior. Jim was touching him, holding him, and it was so much more than Oswald had dared hope for. He wrapped his arms around Jim’s neck, as Jim laid him on the bed-as carefully as if Oswald were made of glass. 

Jim stood by the side of the bed and pulled his tee shirt off, enjoying the awareness that Oswald was watching him. At the same time, Jim was fighting off a case of nerves. He was well aware that for his part, he was making this up as he went along, and he was afraid of Oswald seeing him as a clumsy, clueless idiot. It was like being seventeen all over again. 

He didn’t have much time to think about it, because the minute he lay down, Oswald pounced on him like a wildcat. Oswald was surprisingly strong for such a small, slender man; he was lean, but solid, and he easily pinned Jim to the bed as he straddled his waist. He kissed Jim, open mouthed, hungrily; then bit him on the neck so hard that Jim yelled. Oswald’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once; clutching, caressing; gentle, then rough. 

Jim flipped Oswald on his back, held him down and kissed him breathless while the smaller man struggled, arching his torso and clawing playfully at Jim’s back. Jim wasn’t sure if they were making love or trying to tear each other limb from limb, but it felt so good he didn’t care. It seemed perfectly natural; to be wrestling, in bed, with a man that- a few days before- Jim had been too nervous to even kiss. After a while-which could have been five minutes or fifty- Oswald slid down and began nuzzling the bulge in Jim’s sweatpants. He eased the waistband over Jim’s hips and thighs, slowly pulling the sweatpants off, and tossing them aside. Jim began to breathe faster as Oswald stroked him, gently, through his briefs, and then pulled those off as well. 

Oswald licked him lightly, delicately, teasing with his fingers and tongue; before taking Jim into his mouth. Jim moaned as Oswald worked at pleasing him; everything Oswald was doing with his hand and mouth was perfect. He seemed to know exactly how to touch Jim; and then he started making noises, that might have been whimpers or moans had his mouth not been full, that drove Jim absolutely crazy. 

Oswald brought Jim to the edge, backed him away, and brought him to the edge again. Jim gripped Oswald’s hair, pushing in deeper, as Oswald’s head moved up and down. Finally, Oswald pulled away and whispered “Stand up, by the side of the bed”. Jim did, and Oswald slid towards him until his head was hanging just off edge of the mattress. Jim leaned over him, then inserted himself into Oswald’s mouth and pushed into his throat, impossibly deep. He groaned as he pulled back, and moved in again. As he began to swell and stiffen; he looked up and saw that Oswald was stroking himself, and the sight pushed him over the edge. Jim came so hard he felt like every cell in his body was exploding. He pulled out of his lover’s mouth and collapsed on the bed, panting and damp with sweat. 

Jim pulled Oswald close and held him, stroking his hair. He wanted to return the favor, but Oswald held him back, saying, “Wait.”

“Tell me what you want, I’ll do anything, whatever it is.”

“I want you to touch me; just touch me, and I want you to look me in the eye. “

Jim didn’t ask questions. He opened the nightstand drawer, got out the lubricant he used when he was alone, and squeezed some into his hand. This, at least, was something he felt competent doing. He reached down and grasped Oswald.

“Let me know if this isn’t what you want.” Jim began moving his fist up and down, then got his other hand in on the action. He knew what felt good to him; where and how to touch, how to mix up the rhythm and pressure; and assumed the same thing might feel good to Oswald. If the look on Oswald’s face was any indication, Jim was on target. Oswald’s pupils were so dilated his blue eyes looked dark, and he bit his lips until they turned crimson. He writhed under Jim’s touch, pushing himself into Jim’s hands. Jim moved one hand farther down, caressing as he went, reaching around to massage Oswald’s derriere. Slowly, Jim slid a finger into Oswald, cautiously exploring until he found his prostate. Oswald gasped and moaned, his eyes rolling back into his head. Within minutes, he exploded, shuddering as wave after wave of ecstasy coursed through his body. 

Jim loved watching Oswald’s face as he came undone. In that moment, Jim felt that Oswald belonged to him; and that no one else existed in the big blue world other than the two of them, just them, and nothing else mattered except what they felt for each other. 

Jim reached for the discarded bathrobe, and used it to clean up; somehow, there was a mess all over his torso as well as Oswald’s. He threw the bathrobe on the floor, and pulled a blanket over them.

Oswald snuggled into Jim’s embrace, and they lay there, tangled up together. Oswald’s head was on Jim’s chest; he could feel Jim’s heart beating beneath his cheek. In his whole life, Oswald had never been happier. After a few minutes, they both fell asleep.

Jim woke up a few hours later, reached for Oswald-he wasn’t there. For a moment, Jim wondered if it had all been a dream. To his relief, he heard Oswald coming out of the bathroom. Oswald slid under the blanket and cuddled up to Jim. 

“Jim?”

“Um-hum? “

“Are you awake?”

“Yeah. What is it? You OK?”

“I’m fine. But now it’s my turn...to need to tell you something. When I was fifteen-remember I told you, I started working for one of the families. They needed guys who were juveniles to move things around-drugs, cash, guns.”

Jim could feel Oswald’s body growing tense. “I know, that’s a common practice.” 

“There were a lot of us who wanted that work. The competition was intense, and I needed money to pay the bills, to take care of my mother and myself. There wasn’t anything else I could do to make that much money. The men who did the hiring-they gave preferential treatment to those of us who were willing to...do special favors for them. I was small for my age. I could pass for younger. That gave me an advantage.”

“Oh God, Oswald, I’m so sorry.” 

“ I learned to leave my body and go somewhere else while it was happening. I figured things could have been worse; at least I didn’t catch anything. By the time I was eighteen I was too old for them to be interested in me, and I was moving up the food chain in the organization. I’ve been celibate ever since. I never wanted anyone until I met you. I know I should have told you this before, but I never dreamed we’d get this far. Now you know what I am. I’m used goods. And if you don’t want me any more I understand”. 

Jim kissed Oswald, gently, carefully. “Those men who molested you-they were pedophiles. Monsters. None of that was your fault. You weren’t old enough to consent, and you’re not ‘used goods’. Knowing this doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

“How is that, James?”

“I care about you; we wouldn’t be here in my bed if I didn’t. You make me happy; I haven’t had much happiness in my life. You make me forget all about what a mess Gotham is, and what a mess my life is. I know it’s going to be hard for us to have a relationship, and we can’t be open about being a couple, at least not at the moment.”

“But...I know you moved out....but what about your girlfriend?”

“You mean Barbara-surprise, she has a girlfriend of her own, one that she’s madly in love with. You don’t have any competition.”

“You could have anyone you wanted.”

“Even if that were true, you still wouldn’t have any competition.”

“Don’t you usually like.......girls?”

Jim smiled. “Up ‘til now, that’s been true. That doesn’t matter, and I can’t explain why it doesn’t matter. But I can tell you this with complete certainty-it’s not about being male or female, it’s about you being you. Just accept it-you don’t have any competition.” And, he thought-“I can’t imagine that you ever will.” But he didn’t say that, because he didn’t want to scare Oswald off. Everything between them was new, and felt fragile; and Jim was terrified of screwing up.

Oswald kissed Jim’s neck. “I’m so crazy about you,” he murmured. Then he drifted off again. Jim lay awake a long time, watching Oswald sleep.  
The next morning, Jim awoke to the sound of someone pounding on the apartment’s door. “Hey, Boy Scout! Rise and Shine! Whatcha doin’ in there, you gonna sleep all day?”

Oh, crap. It was Harvey. “Just stay here,” he whispered. “Be quiet, and remember-Harvey thinks you’re dead.” Oswald nodded.

Jim pulled on his sweatpants and closed the bedroom door on his way out. Harvey barged in the minute the apartment door was open. “It’s your lucky day! I knew you were sittin’ at home bored, so I brought a couple of case files to go over with you. In addition to which, I spared no expense- and brought coffee and donuts. Am I a great partner, or what?”

“Um, thanks.” Jim tried to think fast, but his brain wasn’t fully awake. 

“Hold on...” Harvey looked Jim up and down, taking note of the hickeys, bite marks, and scratches that Jim was covered in. “What the hell you been up to? Playin’ strip poker with a werewolf? Wait a minute....” Harvey grinned like a Halloween pumpkin. “You took my advice! So tell me, was I right or was I right?”

“You were right. But that’s why you have to leave, I’m not alone.”

“She still here? Bring her out, I wanna meet her. If she’s all that, maybe I’ll want to arrange a date for myself.” Harvey winked.

“No. She’s, well, she’s, um, shy.”

“Jim, there’s no such thing as a shy hooker. Especially one that bites and claws like a panther.” Harvey sat down, fished a chocolate donut out of the bag, and began munching.

“All right, then. She’s not a girl. She’s a man. I mean he, not she.”

“It’s all good to me, Boy Scout. “ Harvey washed the donut down with coffee. “I don’t suppose you’d want an audience? I’m a handy with a camera, too.”

“Harvey, that’s just...No. Thanks anyway.”

“Aw, Jim, you’re no fun.” Harvey pretended to pout. “ I’ll let you get back to your shy little panther. But I wanna hear all about it later. And if you change your mind about..........”

“Bye, Harvey, see you tomorrow”. Jim practically shoved him out the door. He could hear Harvey chuckling as he walked down the hall.


	8. Body and Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JIm experiences anxiety about his developing relationship with Oswald, but forges ahead to the best of his ability.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I didn't really have any kind of plan. Just figured if you deal enough cards sooner or later you'll have a poker game."  
> \- Rick Thurber, in "Fallen Angels: Tomorrow I Die"

The week at work was like most others, except for the raw state of Jim’s nerves. Harvey needled him, trying to find out details about the mysterious “hooker”, and sulked when Jim wouldn’t describe the experience in graphic detail.

Jim’s first day back at work, lunch was a very uncomfortable experience.

Harvey was chewing thoughtfully on a muffuletta. The salami and garlic were sure to make him pleasant to be around for the rest of the day. 

“So, Jim. Were you on the top or the bottom?”

“It wasn’t exactly like that, Harvey. It’s hard to explain.”

“I just wanna know who was fuckin’ who, or if you were takin’ turns, or...”

“Can we not talk about this? It’s kind of personal.”

“You paid for a hooker-that’s a business transaction, not a date. I just want some vicarious thrills, buddy. Tell me about the good times, like what were the guy’s special talents? That’s the whole point of hiring a pro.” 

“Harvey, I lied. There was no hooker. It was a date, sort of, it was unexpected, it kind of just...happened.”

“Yeah? So who was it? Was it a cop?”

“I can’t tell you yet. Just trust me, and don’t ask any more questions.”

“Jim, your story about this changes every five minutes, and it’s never entertaining. Say, it wasn’t that geeky guy from forensics?” Harvey’s eyes lit up. “I’ve kinda thought that guy might have hidden talents. Sometimes the quiet ones, you get ‘em to loosen up a little, and wham! Fireworks!”

“No, it wasn’t Eddie, and I’m just not talking about this any more. Please, Harvey. Some day I’ll tell you who it is; I just need some time to process this. And you’ve got to promise me you won’t mention this to anyone. It’s complicated. ”

“Why, are you screwing a married man? No, never mind, you can’t talk about it. Fine. Next time I fuck somebody interesting, see if I tell you all about it.” Harvey was grouchy for the rest of the day.

Once Jim got off desk duty, it was business as usual. There was always an abundance of homicides. Domestic violence, armed robberies, bar fights, rival gangs, revenge, jealousy, petty criminals who got tired of each other. The population of Gotham seemed to find plenty of reasons to kill each other. That week, there was a fence whose body was found in a dumpster-that one was easy, his brother in law had killed him with a tire iron and taken his cash. “Never could stand that asshole, he opened his fucking mouth one too many times.” There were two bodies found floating in the river-gang members who had presumably broken rules; they found the shooter, but he was conveniently underage. A woman in a “good” part of town shot her husband when she caught him in bed with her much younger sister- then the sister helped dump the body behind a nearby dry cleaners. Two thugs working at a chop shop got mad over a dice game; one blew the other away with a shotgun. The list went on and on, and most of it was boring. 

The only interesting case was also baffling-there seemed to be a serial killer who chose male victims and removed their faces with some kind of scalpel, after stabbing them. Even after the third body was found, none of the “higher ups” wanted to admit it was a serial; and since there were no leads, the case got buried -for the time being. 

Jim spent half the time feeling ecstatic over the night he and Oswald had spent together. The other half, he felt apprehensive about what was going to happen next. He knew what the odds were that this would turn out to be a case of temporary insanity on both their parts. In addition, both he and Oswald worked in violent professions, where either of them could get shot dead at any moment. None of this added up to a promising future. In fact, this was almost guaranteed to end badly.

They had agreed that it was simply too dangerous to see each other as often as they wanted to: which would have been every night. They settled on once a week, which didn’t make either of them happy-but it was the best they could come up with. Jim had the next weekend off, so Oswald was supposed to sneak over on Saturday night.

Friday night, Jim dropped by Barbara’s apartment for a visit; she’d called him earlier in the week, saying she needed to talk something over with him. He hadn’t been there in a few weeks, and it felt strange to be walking up to the apartment door. He’d never been comfortable there-the place was just too ritzy. Now, the idea that he’d ever lived there seemed surreal. When Barbara answered the door, she hugged him. Despite everything they’d been through, they were still glad to see each other. 

“You look great, Jim! Can I fix you a drink?” She’d obviously already had a few, herself.

“I look like hell, and yes you can. Whatever you got, on the rocks.” He couldn’t help noticing, the place smelled like weed. He knew Barbara smoked occasionally-although she’d tried to hide it from him. But tonight, it smelled like she’d been burning it in the fireplace. He decided not to mention it.

Her place was the opposite of his: lavish, high-class, upscale. Everything looked like it cost a fortune, and it probably did. Barbara fit right in with the décor. Perfect complexion, megawatt smile, impeccable manicure. She spent more at the hairstylist than Jim paid for rent. Even at the tender young age of 28, it cost a lot to look that good. When he’d first met her, he’d assumed she was just another narcissistic Barbie doll. But she’d won him over, with her warm laugh and her generous nature. She’d do anything for a friend, including giving them the designer coat off her back. She was loyal to a fault, thought the best of everyone, and had a wicked sense of humor. Sometimes she didn’t seem to know quite what to do with her long arms and legs; and that gave her a coltish, awkward look that Jim found endearing. 

“Jim, I need a favor.” She handed him his drink, and they sat down. She was chewing her bottom lip, a sign that she was worried, and there were dark circles under her eyes. “My parents are going to be in town for a couple of nights next week. They’re not staying here-they didn’t want to intrude on our privacy.”

“You didn’t tell them I moved out.”

“Jim, you know I can’t. And I was going to ask you if you’d go out to dinner with me. And them. Next week.” She looked like she was about to cry. 

“Yes, of course I will. I’ll act like I’m your boyfriend, and your parents can have another ‘Thank God our Daughter’s Not a Lesbian’ party. But I can’t help wishing you’d tell them they can either accept Renee, or go fuck themselves.”

“That didn’t work out so well last time. Then I tried giving Renee up, and you know what a mess that turned into.”

“I know, Babs, it’s all right.” 

She sighed in relief. “I knew I could count on you. I hate lying to them, and I wish I didn’t have to. But, it’s the best compromise I can come up with.”

That night, Jim lay in bed thinking about their conversation. Pretending to still be involved with Barbara might prove useful for more than just fooling Barbara’s parents. It could deflect suspicion where he and Oswald were concerned. He thought about his conversation with Sarah, too. Maybe he should stop being such a hardass, and learn to compromise a little: because if he kept seeing Oswald, compromise was going to be inevitable.

Jim spent the next day cleaning and cooking. By 5:00 pm, he was satisfied that the place looked as good as it was ever going to; he’d made lasagna, which was in the fridge, waiting to be heated up later on. Oswald was supposed to be there at six, and Jim was jittery. They’d talked a couple of times that week, but Jim desperately missed seeing him. Jim was excited and anxious, uneasy and euphoric all at once. It was exhausting. He lay down on the sofa, and shut his eyes, just for a few minutes...............

When he woke up, he was disoriented. He looked at his watch-it was 7:35. Oswald was an hour and a half late. There was no message, and he hadn’t called. Jim tried calling Oswald’s phone; it went straight to voicemail. Damn. Jim’s mouth tasted like a swamp. He brushed his teeth, then started pacing. He sat down. Stood up again. He knew he was acting like a teenage girl who’d been stood up for the prom. 

Someone was at the door. 

He threw the door open. Oswald came in, carrying some kind of green leafy houseplant in a large pot. He was wearing black jeans, red converse sneakers, and the same gray hoodie over a button down shirt. “I’m so sorry I’m late, I couldn’t call because I left my phone at home, the first cab I called never showed up, then I got another cab, and there was a wreck right in front of us, and the cab driver wanted to stay and be a witness, so I left before the police could get there, and walked to the Dunwoody Hotel, I knew there’d be some cabs there, and, MMPH!!!”

Jim had shut the door, taken the plant and set it on a side table. Then he grabbed Oswald and kissed him, kissed him and kept kissing him, until Oswald melted into Jim’s arms. When they came up for air, Oswald said: “I missed you too. All week, it was miserable, I’ve been dying to see you.”

Jim led him over to the sofa, and pulled Oswald onto his lap. “I’m sorry, I told myself I wasn’t going to crawl all over you the minute you came in the door. I’m just so relieved to see you.”

Oswald nuzzled Jim’s neck. “You can crawl all over me anytime you want to, and I will be profoundly grateful.”

“I was afraid something had happened to you. Or that maybe you had changed your mind about seeing me.”

“Changed my mind? After all the nights I lay awake, thinking about you; and then sinking into despair because I didn’t even dare hope that we might be friends, much less lovers?” 

Oswald started unbuttoning Jim’s shirt. “You know what was one of the worst nights of my life? That night I showed up at your ex-girlfriend’s apartment. I didn’t understand it was her place, I thought it was yours. When she came to the door, I felt like such an idiot-she looked like a supermodel, and the apartment was fabulous, and you obviously had this great life-and there I was. I tried to play it off, but I wanted to sink through the floor.”

“ I still need to apologize to you for slamming you against the wall in that alley. I was glad to see you; glad you hadn’t drowned-it was such a relief. But I was all twisted up inside, I couldn’t deal with my feelings. Later I felt like a dirtbag for being mean to you. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s Ok. This is going to sound bizarre-but I enjoyed being slammed against the wall. Just because you were touching me, and your face was so close to mine-and I was wishing you’d kiss me.”

“Here’s a confession, I had backed you up against the wall, and was holding you there-the reason I let go was that I got this image in my head of pressing my body against yours, and unzipping your pants, and um. Well. I wanted to do a lot more than kiss you. I ended up with this raging hard on, and I was afraid you’d notice. The minute I got back in the apartment, I had to lock myself in the bathroom and jack off. OK, that’s my embarrassing true confession for the night.”

“I find that story absolutely charming. Oh, look-your shirt seems to have come all unbuttoned. I imagine it’s going to fall off at any moment.” Oswald started nibbling Jim’s neck, while gently pinching his nipples. “Perhaps we should move into the bedroom, where it would be so much easier to free ourselves from these annoying garments.”

“Baby, you are just pure evil.”

Oswald stopped and looked at Jim. “Did you just call me baby?!?” Jim turned ten different shades of bright red. “And now you’re blushing?!? Oh, you are adorable. And you can call me anything you please, as long as you follow me into the bedroom.” Oswald took Jim’s hand and led him into the other room.

They couldn’t seem to touch each other enough as they undressed each other; kissing, caressing, and re-acquainting themselves with each other’s bodies. They’d only spent one night together, and the intervening week had been torture. When they were naked, Jim pulled Oswald into the bathroom. “I know it seems odd to do this before rather than after, but I’ve been picturing you in the shower all week. Is that Ok?” 

Oswald nodded; Jim sensed his hesitancy. “Are you sure? What’s the matter?”

“No, it’s all right, I ....well, it’s bright in here, and I feel kind of......exposed. You have such a spectacular body, James, and I’m not ....much to look at.”

Jim pulled Oswald close, and hugged him. “You underestimate yourself, Ozzie. When I look at you, do you know what I see? You have the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen. You have gorgeous hair that I can’t stop wanting to touch. Your lips are soft and kissable, and your bone structure is fine and delicate. Your hands-I used to dream about your hands, about wanting you to touch me.. And your body-is slender and pale, and elegant. To me, everything about you is beautiful, and I wouldn’t change anything. ”

For the first time in his life, as far back as he could remember, Oswald didn’t feel inadequate. He didn’t feel broken, or damaged; and he wanted to give himself to Jim, completely, because in Jim’s eyes- Oswald was lovable. He held Jim’s face in his hands, looked into his eyes and smiled. “Thank you. I’m fine, now; and I can’t believe how lucky I am, to be with you.”

Jim turned on the water in the shower stall, and waited for it to warm up. They stepped in, together; Jim squeezed some shampoo into his hand, and began to shampoo Oswald’s hair. He hated all the styling goo Oswald used, and was glad that Oswald didn’t object to having it washed out. Oswald was making a noise that sounded like purring, as Jim massaged his scalp. The purring sound increased in volume as Jim scrubbed Oswald’s back with a loofah; and then moved down to Oswald’s butt and legs. 

Jim was on his knees, washing Oswald’s legs; when he gently turned Oswald around, he worked his way up from the ankles to an area where the loofah was simply going to be too rough. This was what Jim had been looking forward to. He took his time exploring with his hands and mouth, deliberately and thoroughly, making Oswald gasp. It seemed to Jim that they were somehow outside of time, that the water streaming over their bodies was moving in slow motion. Jim was lost in the pleasure of what he was doing, slowly, rhythmically licking and sucking Oswald’s cock. He didn’t know how to take it in as deep as Oswald did, but he did his best, as Oswald clutched Jim’s short blond hair. 

Oswald reached down and pulled at Jim, urging him to stand up. Jim licked his way back up Oswald’s body. “What? Was that wrong?”

“Oh, God, no, that was wonderful-that’s the problem, I was getting too close, and I didn’t know how you would react to....I mean, I hadn’t asked you how you felt about....”

“You’re afraid I’d be turned off if you came in my mouth, and the answer is no, I’d enjoy it.”

They toweled each other off quickly, playfully, and moved back into the bedroom, tugging each other onto the bed. Jim reached into the nightstand and retrieved the lubricant, as he pushed Oswald onto his back. He sensation of being outside of time reoccurred. It seemed to Jim that his tongue was in Oswald’s mouth, and then he was licking Oswald’s stomach, and then somehow he was between his legs again- pushing them up; moving farther down. He pressed his mouth against Oswald’s hole, and was gratified by the noises Oswald started to make. Jim felt excitement coursing through his body like an electrical current as he pleasured Oswald with his tongue, finally pushing his tongue inside him. He followed with a well-lubricated finger, then two.

He could hear Oswald saying something; but his voice seemed far away. He disengaged his fingers, and pressed his face next to his lover’s.

“I want you to fuck me.” Oswald was breathing hard. 

“I don’t want to hurt you. You have to promise to tell me if it hurts.”

Jim let Oswald lubricate him until he was slick, enjoying the feel of Oswald’s hands. 

Jim carefully lifted Oswald’s legs over his shoulders. “Does that hurt your bad leg?” Oswald shook his head. He pressed the head of his cock against Oswald’s hole. Jim was well endowed, and he had a moment of doubt that something that large could possibly fit into on opening that seemed so small. He pushed gently, then hesitated.

Oswald started begging. 

He was begging the way he had begged when he was pleading with Jim not to kill him. This time, he was pleading with Jim to fuck him; and the begging had the same aphrodisiacal effect on Jim that it did when Oswald had offered to be his slave for life. Except this time, he wasn’t on a dock with a gun in his hand, and Harvey wasn’t watching. 

Jim shoved himself into Oswald, thrusting until he had forced himself all the way in. Being inside him felt better than anything he had ever experienced. He leaned down and kissed Oswald, roughly, and Oswald moaned into the kiss. “Please, that’s it, please don’t stop, please.” Oswald pushed his hips up to meet Jim’s rhythm. Some animal part of Jim’s brain had been kicked into gear. The more Oswald encouraged Jim to fuck him senseless, the more aggressively Jim obliged; and, the farther Jim descended into a sort of delirium, that went on and on. 

He was hardly aware of what he was doing when he pulled out and rolled Oswald over on his stomach. Oswald let Jim position him; Jim entered him from behind, bit him on the back of the neck, and proceeded to pound Oswald into the mattress. Oswald whimpered and cried out as if he was in pain, yet kept begging Jim to keep on. There was no tenderness in the way Jim was possessing Oswald; it was savage, merciless, even brutal. He flipped Oswald back over, penetrating him again, and instantly started to climax. Oswald yelled as Jim pumped into him, coming at almost the same moment, groaning and splattering himself.

Jim collapsed on top of Oswald, who was limp to the point of seeming lifeless. Slowly, Jim came back to himself. “Oswald, are you all right?”

“Ummmmmm. Don’t know. Brain offline. Circuits fried.”

“Did I hurt you? Talk to me, please tell me you’re Ok.”

Oswald wrapped his arms around Jim. “I’m fine,” he whispered. “Calm down, you didn’t hurt me. That was a bit rough, but I liked it. Don’t be upset. Here, let’s get under the covers.”

Jim held Oswald close, as they cuddled under the blanket. “God almighty, I don’t know what got into me.”

Oswald tried to look serious. “Ah, James, I think it was more about what got into me.”

“I wanted to make love to you and I feel like I just beat you up.”

“Well, let’s see. I’m conscious; no broken bones; all my teeth still seem to be in place; none of my hair is pulled out; and, I’m not bleeding. No, don’t think I got beat up. I think you just fucked my brains out, for which I should be sending you a thank you card .You, on the other hand-I hope you didn’t do any damage to Mr. Happy, or Big Jim, or whatever you call him.” Jim finally smiled, and relaxed a little. 

Oswald kissed the side of Jim’s mouth. “ Are you going to blush for me again, as well?”

“I just don’t want you to ever feel like I’m using you.”

“I can’t imagine feeling that way about you. You’re such a sweetheart. Oh, you are going to blush again, aren’t you? Now I’d like to ask you a personal question, if I may. What on earth did you and Barbara do in the bedroom? Did you have twin beds, with a nightstand in between?”

Jim sighed. “If Barbara and I hadn’t ended up being friends, that relationship would have been a complete loss. The physical part was a train wreck from day one. She never let me touch her unless she was drinking, and the last time I even tried to make love to her, she called me someone else’s name. After that I gave up. We had separate bedrooms.”

“What a strange young woman-to fail to appreciate you.”

“After she called me Renee, that was pretty much............”

“What?!? You don’t mean Detective Montoya?!?” Oswald was starting to get it. “But if Barbara....what was she doing with you in the first place?”

“Barbara and Renee were a couple. Her father rules the family-everyone’s afraid of him, he’s a tyrant; and he had a fit about his only daughter being a lesbian. He threatened to disinherit Barbara, and worse-to disown her, and forbid the rest of the family to have anything to do with her. She broke up with Renee, then was so depressed she started some serious drinking and drugging, started seeing Renee again, landed in rehab. Got out determined to find a nice man, put the past behind her, and make daddy happy. I had the bad luck to be that nice man.”

“What a mess. And to think, I was in despair over thinking I’d never be able to pry you loose from Miss Universe.”

“She’s really a wonderful person. And we still pretend to be a couple so she can stay in her dad’s good graces. Which reminds me-I’m supposed to go out to eat with Barbara and her folks next week. Does that bother you? Because if it does, I won’t go.”

“Thank you, for that; and no, it doesn’t bother me. Now I feel sorry for Barbara; because her father’s an asshat, and because she doesn’t have you.” 

“I just thought of something-I have a surprise for you.” Jim rolled out of bed and walked over to the closet; curious, Oswald followed him. There in the closet were two brand new white, plush, terrycloth bathrobes. “I hope I guessed the right size for you.” He helped Oswald into the smaller robe. 

Oswald hugged him. “Perfect fit! You really are too good to me.”

“And,” Jim continued, “I fixed dinner. It’ll take just a few minutes to put together. Are you hungry?” 

“Starving. Is there anything you’re not good at?”

Engrossed in each other, they left the bedroom, neither of them noticing the light glinting -for just a second- off something behind the grill over the heating duct near the ceiling. Something that didn’t belong there. Across town, a man sat, smiling, in front of a state of the art computer screen. He’d enjoyed the show; he wondered if Jim and Oswald were done for the night. No matter. Everything was being recorded, in every room of Jim’s apartment; all for his enjoyment, and his alone.


	9. Nobody Lives Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is recovering from a gunshot wound; Oswald, Barbara, Renee, and Harvey take care of him. Harvey expresses a distinct lack of enthusiasm for Jim's romance with Oswald. Meanwhile, something is amiss at Willow Grove Cemetery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place at the end of episode 7, “Penguin’s Umbrella”. Barbara, Jim, and Harvey have been released from their captivity at Don Falcone’s mansion, and Oswald has had his meeting with Don Falcone by the chicken coop.  
> Willow Grove Park, a Victorian era cemetery, is modeled after actual cemeteries that are examples of the Garden Cemetery movement of the 19th century.

Harvey knocked on the door to Barbara’s apartment. Someone took a long look at him through the peephole, before opening the door. 

“Thanks for coming, Harvey. I know you’ve been to hell and back.” Renee Montoya looked haggard, like she hadn’t slept in days. Harvey, at least, had gotten a few hours sleep after being released from Falcone’s mansion. “We’re all exhausted, and Barbara will sleep better, knowing that you’re staying here. I tried to get her to go back to my place, but she wanted us to stay because of Jim. He lost a lot of blood yesterday. The doctor ordered him to stay put for a couple of days.”

“Yeah, good luck with that. So where’s he at?”

“In the downstairs guest bedroom. We at least got him to lie down; Barbara’s trying to get him to eat so he can take his medicine. The doctor left antibiotics and painkillers. “ Renee paused. “Look Harvey, I have to warn you- about Jim’s boyfriend. No one except Barbara knew about him until today, when she explained it to me. Jim says he trusts you. So, try not to give him a bad time about it.” She walked off in the direction of the kitchen.

That was weird. Harvey’d been dying to discover the identity of Jim’s “mystery man”, but why was Renee treating the topic like a state secret? Harvey went to the bedroom door and looked in. Barbara was standing there; and there was a man, seated in a chair next to the bed; her hand was placed affectionately on the man’s back. They were both hovering over Jim. Harvey cleared his throat.

Barbara walked over and threw her arms around Harvey’s neck. “Oh, Harvey! I’m so glad you’re here. Maybe you can help us get Jim to eat.” She turned to the man-“C’mon Ozzie, I’ll get Jim’s medicine for you.” The man followed Barbara out of the room-but not before Harvey recognized Oswald Cobblepot. 

“Hi, Harvey.” Jim eyed Harvey, cautiously.

“What’s that little prick doing here?” Harvey sat down in the vacant chair. “Because Renee said something about your boyfriend, and I know that ain’t him.” 

Jim looked at the ceiling.

“You ain’t sayin’ nothin’, Jim.” Silence. “You’re scarin’ me.” More silence. “Don’t scare me like this, Jim. ”

Barbara came back into the room, looking worried, and put her hand on Jim’s forehead. “ The doctor said we have to watch and make sure you don’t develop a fever. Ozzie’ll be back in a minute with your meds, and he’ll help you change the bandage”. She kissed Harvey on the cheek on her way out. 

“Jim. There’s psychiatrists out there, who can do things for you. Medications. Hypnosis. Shock treatments. I’ve heard they can even cut out part of your brain and throw it away. You know, the bad part. You can get help, Jim.”

“Harvey. I can explain. I know this seems...”

“Shut up, Jim.” Harvey gave Jim a look that could melt concrete. “Because if you say another word, I’ll kill you.” Harvey picked up a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich on it. “You see this God-damned sandwich?”

Jim nodded.

“Good.” Harvey shoved it at him. “Now EAT the scum-sucking motherfucker.”

Jim picked up the sandwich and began eating. 

Oswald arrived with some prescription pill bottles, and first-aid supplies. “Oh good, you’re eating! Detective Bullock must have a more persuasive bedside manner than the rest of us.”

Harvey aimed a withering glance at Oswald. “If anybody needs me I’ll be fixing myself a few dozen drinks.”

Harvey walked back into the living room. Renee and Barbara were sitting on one of the sofas, their arms around each other. “Harvey, Barbara and I are going to lie down. You know where the other guest room is, don’t you?”

Yeah, Harvey thought, the one where I banged a whore last night. “Uh, yeah, Renee, I’m good. Say, Barbara, you got any weed? Or maybe some heroin?” 

“Oh Harvey, you’re always joking! Here. She indicated a humidor sitting near the bar. And there’s some lighters in that drawer under the bar.”

Harvey went straight to Barbara’s well stocked bar, got a water glass, and filled it to the brim with the first thing he came to- tequila. He considered drinking it straight from the bottle. Then he examined the humidor. He helped himself, then settled down in one of Barbara’s plush easy chairs. 

Oswald changed Jim’s bandages, took his temperature, administered meds. He sat on the side of the bed. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Restless. Maybe those pills will make me sleep.”

“While you’re still awake, there are some things I should tell you. Falcone let you go, because I asked him to. He owed me.”

“Say that again?” Jim looked astonished. 

Oswald tried to get it all out as fast as he could. “When Fish broke my leg, and decided to have me killed, Falcone grilled me. He wanted to know any dirt I had on Fish, and I had plenty. He was pleased, so I asked for a deal. I asked him to choose you to kill me; if I survived, I’d come back to Gotham, work my way into Maroni’s organization, and snitch for Falcone.”

“You picked me to kill you? Why?”

“First, I was pretty sure you wouldn’t do it. Secondly, for your protection. You’re too honest, and you weren’t going to last in Gotham. It was inevitable; someone was going to find a reason to kill you. If Falcone thought he had something on you, he had a reason to let you live; and if all the others thought you belonged to Falcone, they’d leave you alone. Whether you killed me or not, it would work in your favor. Finally-if I survived, there’d be something that connected you and me; there’d be something we shared. I didn’t know why I wanted that, but I did.”

“Thank God you picked me. Anyone else would have killed you.” Jim looked away. “There’s something I need to tell you, too. It’s not easy for me, and I don’t know how you’ll react to this. I just can’t put it off any longer. ”

Oswald closed his eyes. He was afraid Jim was going to break up with him; he wouldn’t blame him, after everything Oswald had just told him. 

Jim reached up and touched Oswald’s face. “ I love you. I’ve been trying to find the right time to tell you. I was afraid it was too soon, I’ve been afraid of scaring you off. Today when I thought I was going to die, all I could think about was that I was never going to see you again, and I was going to die before I had a chance to tell you that I love you.”

Oswald wanted to throw himself into Jim’s arms. Because of Jim’s injury, he had to settle for leaning down and kissing Jim gently on the lips. “I love you, too.”   
_________________________________________________

A little while later, Oswald walked out, and sat on the end of a sofa- as far away as he could get from Harvey. “Detective Bullock, I know that you don’t think that James and I should be seeing one another.”

Harvey took a long drag off what he was smoking. Then he took another swallow of Tequila. “Oh no, Cobblepot. I think it’s a great idea. Pure fuckin’ genius! I only hope I’ll get invited to be the flower girl at your wedding. Don Falcone can be the best man, and Don Maroni can walk you down the aisle and give you away. It’ll be the social event of the season.” Harvey took another drag.

“I know I’m not good enough for James.” Oswald spoke quietly. “I know I should have given him up, right at the beginning, I thought about it –but I was too cowardly. I was weak. And now, it’s too late. Because if I left him now, it would break him as badly as it would break me. 

“I’m Jim’s friend, and I’ll stick by him no matter what shit-for-brains thing he does. I’ve proven that. If you’re important to him, fine. I’ll look out for you, too. But I don’t have to like it.” Harvey glared at Oswald. “You’ve done something to him. I don’t know what. He’s a sucker for thinking he can save people, so I figure you played on his sympathy, got him to feel sorry for you. You don’t look like any kind of sexual candy to me, but maybe you know so many tricks you’d make a Bangkok whorehouse look like a home for retired nuns. You’ve got Jim under some kind of spell. Or maybe you just remind him of dear ol’ dad. His father was a criminal, did he tell you about that?”

Oswald looked like someone had slapped him across the face. Harvey had expected him to react with murderous rage; instead, he looked very small, and very sad. “Thank you, Detective Bullock, for saying you would stick by James.” Then he left the room.

Harvey suddenly felt guilty. He made his way to the “other” guest room and flopped down on the bed, fully dressed. He wished he’d had the cash to pay for another hooker. He needed something to think about other than Jim and Oswald. 

The next morning, Harvey awoke to the smell of cooking. He followed his nose to the kitchen, where he found Oswald preparing a tray for Jim. “There’s plenty of food, if you’re hungry Detective Bullock”. Oswald’s voice was flat.

“Thanks. I apologize for acting like an asswipe last night.”

“Apology accepted. I have to leave soon, I’ll be back tonight. So will Renee and Barbara. Can you stay here with James, during the day?”

“Yeah. It’s my day off.” After Oswald left, Harvey wandered in to check on Jim. “You need anything?”

“Sit down for a minute, Harvey.”

“I already apologized to the little creep. Aw hell, I’m sorry, I’m not used to this.”

“I know. First off, he’s the reason we’re alive. He called in a favor from Falcone.”

“Wait, I thought he worked for Maroni?”

“Maroni thinks so. Falcone thinks Oswald works for Falcone. He’s playing them off against each other.”

“Oh, that’s real smart.”

“Harvey, here’s all you need to understand. I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life. The grand prizewinner is coming to Gotham, thinking I could make a difference. That bright idea has brought me zero results and nothing but misery. A close second is falling in love with Oswald. The difference is, that’s resulted in something I forgot existed-genuine happiness. So here’s the deal. I’m never going to give him up. I’m never going to give up on him. If it gets me killed, fine. I’d rather be dead than live without him.”

“Jim. That’s some fucked up shit.”

“Yeah, well, you should know. You’ve never given up on Fish, have you? You keep thinking maybe there’s some fragment of a decent human being buried in there somewhere, that the person you used to know will re-emerge, somehow. You never stop hoping, do you?”

“Depends on what day it is. But I get your point about Cobblepot. I’ll keep your secrets. I’ll even sorta try to maybe not call him a little prick, or whatever.”

Harvey went out and lay down on a sofa. His head hurt. He had a hangover. His best friend was fucking a miserable little weasel. It was a week and a half ‘till payday.

Life was grand.  
______________________________________________________________________

Across town, at Willow Grove Park, life was not quite as grand. Not because there was anything wrong-at least, not yet- but because Willow Grove Park was a cemetery. At Willow Grove Park, one could safely say that death was grand. Covering the better part of 60 acres, it dated to the 1850s. Gotham’s citizens of the Victorian era considered it a place of peace and beauty, and used it for picnicking and Sunday afternoon strolls as well as a place to bury the dead. 

In the present, Willow Grove was of interest to history buffs who sought out the grave sites of generals, governors, mayors, madams, and mobsters. Nature enthusiasts treasured it as an Arboretum and bird sanctuary. Artists and photographers came to search out the statuary and monuments that were examples of the Victorian “Revival Styles”-Greek, Egyptian, Gothic, and Neo-Classical. The abundant mausoleums, built by the wealthy of Gotham’s past decades, featured Gargoyles, Sphinxes, and Tiffany Studio stained glass windows. The grounds weren’t as manicured as they once were, the visitors weren’t as plentiful, but the place still exuded the charm and grandeur of a bygone era. 

That morning, Bartholomew Ackerman – a past president of the Gotham Ornithological Society-was investigating a sighting of the first Yellow Wagtail in the history of the state. The previous year, he’d documented sightings of the Eurasian Collared Dove, and that was quite a feather in his cap. At age 76, he was still spry enough to pursue his hobby, although his eyes grew a tad less sharp each year. He was making his way through brambles and underbrush in one of the oldest parts of the cemetery, when he came upon a curious sight.

A woman was walking through the woods, along a gravel path that had fallen into disrepair. She was wearing a black pantsuit and boots, dark glasses, and had blond hair pinned up into a bun. The curious thing about her was that she wore a black formal ladies’ hat, with a veil that covered her face, of a style that hadn’t been in vogue for decades. She was dragging a wheeled cooler along behind her. Bartholomew called after her: “My dear young woman, are you lost?”

The woman turned and smiled. He saw that she was also wearing a full parure of Victorian mourning jewelry; jet, or perhaps onyx. “Not at all. I’m going to visit our family’s ancestral grave site. I’ve brought along this ice chest for the flowers I’ve brought, to keep them fresh.”

“Be careful, then, these old paths are sometimes treacherous-you can step in a hole before you know it!” He waved, and they both continued on their separate ways. He thought no more about it, until rather late that afternoon. He’d been pursuing a bird that might have been the Wagtail, when it flitted into an open area filled with monuments-some broken, most of them eroded. He noticed something odd about some of the statuary. Upon closer inspection, something was amiss with three of the life-sized angels. Someone had placed something over their faces.

When he realized what the faces were covered with, he dropped his binoculars. Bartholomew ran. He ran through the briars and the thick woods, stumbling and falling, and running again, energized by raw terror, and he didn’t stop running until he reached the building that housed the cemetery offices, and the caretaker called the police.


	10. Christmas Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The GCPD investigates the gruesome scene at Willow Grove Park. Jim and Oswald take a vacation and visit Jim's sister Anna in southern California. Jim confesses his past to Oswald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene at Willow Grove Park takes places right after the last chapter. The second part of the chapter, the vacation, takes place after Episode 10.  
> Yes, there is a Film Noir entitled "Christmas Holiday". Made in 1944, it was directed by Robert Siodmak and starred Gene Kelly- cast against type as a serial killer. Robert Siodmak also directed such classic noir films as Phantom Lady, (1944), The Killers (1946), and Criss Cross (1948). CHristmas Holiday is worth seeing if you get the chance.

Edward Nygma was enjoying himself. That’s what gave Harvey the creeps. It was early morning, and foggy; they were in a spooky, run down Victorian cemetery. Worse, they were examining one of the nastiest crime scenes Harvey had ever seen-and he’d seen plenty. This one didn’t win the award for most carnage. There weren’t rivers of gore. It was the weirdness of it, what Harvey called the bizarre-o factor, that let him know he was going to have bad dreams about this one. Yet Eddie was smiling, grinning ear-to-ear, happy as a child who just got a pony for his birthday. 

“Detective Bullock! Did you know that no one living in Gotham can be buried here?” Eddie stopped taking photos for a moment.

Harvey frowned. “Why not?”

“Because you can’t bury someone until they’re dead!” 

Harvey rolled his eyes. Jim, meanwhile, had been talking to the closest thing they had to a witness, one Bartholomew Ackerman; an eccentric elderly man who’d happened upon the scene the previous evening, while bird watching. Uniforms had responded to the caretaker’s frantic call- but had been unable to find the crime scene until the wee hours of the morning. Mr. Ackerman had gotten confused about exactly where it was, and searching Willow Grove Park in the pitch-blackness had proven a daunting task. 

Harvey took Jim aside. “What do you make of this?” They were both looking, again, at the grisly display- they couldn’t seem to tear their eyes away. The serial killer, who’d been slicing off faces, had taken those faces for a reason- and here they were, draped like masks, over the faces of three life sized stone angels.

“This may be the killer’s way to taunt us, to challenge us to find him; or it could fulfill some personal, specific need-as part of a ritual that has symbolic meaning to the killer. Maybe he didn’t expect these souvenirs to be found so quickly, and he meant to add more later on. Maybe he did it for the shock value, because he wants to be on the front page of the paper. Right now, it’s all speculation.” Jim looked as frustrated as Harvey felt. “The victims were young, fit, attractive men. Maybe the point was to reduce them to something disgusting and grotesque. The first victim was a personal trainer. The second was an actor, who waited tables at a five star restaurant. The third was a college student-an athlete. We haven’t found any connection between the victims, at all.”

“ Freakin’ hooray. What about the woman the old guy said he saw? She coulda had the faces in that cooler.”

“We’ve got uniforms looking for her, but no clues yet as to who she might be. The graves in this area belong to a family that died out at the turn of the century. “

They walked over to where Eddie was examining one of the faces, manipulating the edges with a pair of tweezers. “I’m not exactly sure yet what instrument was used, but it was something like a scalpel. We know the order in which these men were killed, and the killer’s skills have advanced exponentially from victim one to victim three. On victim three the cuts are confident, even elegant; the face was removed with precision and finesse. I can’t wait to get these back to the lab!”

“Eddie, do you think this person has had medical training?” Jim queried.

“Maybe. But I doubt it. He did an awful job with victim number one, I think he’s learning as he goes along.” 

Harvey and Jim walked through the cemetery as they made their way back to the car. “I didn’t even know this place was here.” Jim grimaced. “That was one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever seen. Aside from combat.”

“Yeah. I hope we get a break before this whack job plans another re-decorating project.”  
They walked on in silence for a few minutes. “So, how’s the wound feeling? I thought you were supposed to stay in bed for a few days.”

“I stayed in bed for two days. That’s plenty.”

“Boyfriend takin’ good care of you?”

“Harvey. Don’t start.”

“Hey, I’m bein’ civil. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Harvey looked thoughtful. “You guys ever do any role playing?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know. Like naughty nurse, or French maid.”

“Of course. My favorite is when I dress up like Eleanor Roosevelt.”

“Seriously, Jim. I got some magazines you should look at. And some catalogs.” Harvey grinned. “Man’s gotta have some hobbies, right?

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

 

Jim was sitting at the baggage claim at John Wayne Airport. “Only in Southern California,” he thought. It was the closest airport to San Clemente, where his sister, Anna, lived with her husband, Nathan. Jim had been there for two days; now he was waiting for Oswald’s flight to arrive.

It was the week after Christmas. Jim had to work during the holidays; when he arrived back to Gotham, after this vacation, he’d be working at Arkham Asylum. His career was officially in the toilet; but he was determined not to let that spoil the trip. It was the first time he and Oswald had gone anywhere outside of Gotham, since they got involved. It was too dangerous for them to fly out together, so they’d decided to travel separately. 

“James!” Oswald looked as overjoyed as if he hadn’t seen Jim in a year. He was dragging a navy blue carry-on that had seen better days. He’d told Oswald to dress for the beach-so Oswald had opted for jeans, a long sleeved tee, a ball cap-and those red converse sneakers that Jim was so fond of. He’d combed his bangs out of his face; he looked about a decade younger than he did in Gotham, wearing those formal suits. Jim grabbed Oswald, hugged him and kissed him on the mouth. Oswald tried to pull away. 

“Relax. This is Southern California, nobody knows us, and nobody cares. We can act like normal people here.” He kissed Oswald again, and this time Oswald kissed him back. 

On the way to San Clemente, Oswald quizzed Jim about his family. “Anna’s thirteen years older than me, so she’s forty nine. She’s a veterinarian. Her husband, Nathan, did extremely well for him self in technology-something to do with designing computers. They have twin daughters, Holly and Heather, who are sophomores at the University of California at Santa Barbara. Holly’s majoring in computer science, Heather’s majoring in physics.”

“Does your brother live nearby?”

Jim frowned.“Roger-no, he lives closer to San Francisco. Doubt we’ll see him this trip.”

Oswald guessed there was more to that story, but he wasn’t going to ask. He figured Jim would tell him about it in his own time. 

San Clemente was stunning. To Oswald it looked so exotic; it was like landing on another planet. Anna’s home was a two story white stucco beach house, surrounded by a garden, and designed so that all across the back of the house, on the first floor, bi fold glass doors could be folded back to open the house to the outdoors. 

Anna was a short, chubby woman with a warm smile and frizzy red hair pulled back with a scrunchie. Nathan was tall and lean, with a bushy mustache and goatee; he was mostly bald, and his remaining hair was silvery. They both greeted Oswald warmly; Anna hugged Oswald while Nathan took his bag inside. 

“Your garden is beautiful.” Oswald looked in wonder at the flowering vines, and the lush variety of plants. “I was fascinated by plants as a kid. I used to love to draw them.”

Anna guided Oswald to a seat on the patio. “We only use native plants. It saves on water, and attracts native bugs, butterflies, and bees. I’m glad you’re interested in plants, I can talk about gardening for hours.”

“Oswald is a very talented artist. His drawings are amazing. They’re tacked up all over the walls in his old room at his mom’s.” Jim remembered, too late, that he’d never told Oswald about that visit. Oswald shot him a startled look, but continued to converse with Anna.  
That night, after watching a spectacular sunset, they went to a restaurant on the beach: The Fisherman, which featured a plethora of fresh seafood. Oswald looked at the menu as if he’d found Shangri-La. The atmosphere was relaxed, laid back, casual, as were the people populating the pier and beach. Jim and Oswald went for a walk on the beach after Anna and Nathan had retired for the evening. It was a new experience for them, to be able to hold hands, or put their arms around each other, without worrying who might see them.  
“You never told me you visited my mother!”  
“I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I was embarrassed. It was when you were officially dead. I pretended to be helping Montoya and Allen, and your mom let me snoop around your old room. You and I weren’t together yet, and I was trying to get to know more about you. I know, I was wrong to do that-I was stalking you, and being a pervert.”  
“I want you to know, James Gordon, that I’m simply furious at you for not telling me. I’m going to punish you by withholding sex-for at least the next ten minutes.”  
It wasn’t much longer after that they were in the guest bedroom. Both men were kneeling, Oswald’s butt pushed back against Jim’s thighs. Jim held him around the waist, pulling him up; while Oswald wrapped one arm, backwards, around Jim’s neck. When Oswald turned his head to the side, Jim could kiss him while fucking him from behind. When it grew tiring, Oswald sank down on his hands and knees, allowing Jim access for deeper penetration. Oswald was grateful that the house was a large one, and the master bedroom was in a different wing; he managed not to scream at the top of his lungs, but he couldn’t help making noise as Jim stretched and filled him.  
Sex with Jim was like a drug; intoxicating, addicting. Oswald was never “not in the mood”, and it took very little on Jim’s part to get Oswald ready to go. As for Jim, Oswald had learned that Jim really, really loved sex; and he loved to experiment. Oswald guessed that by now, they had screwed in every position ever known to mankind, including a few of Jim’s own invention. 

They could hear the ocean as they lay in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. “Do you like it here?” 

“Mmmmmm. It’s wonderful. Anywhere with you is wonderful.”

Jim smiled. “You think you could ever consider leaving Gotham?”

“I hadn’t thought about it. Gotham’s the only place I’ve ever lived. Are you suggesting something?”

“I don’t know. It’s gonna be tough on us if we stay there. It’s been so different here; I could get used to holding your hand in public.” 

“Just like normal people.” Oswald was quiet for a few minutes. “Except I’m not normal people. You are, James, but I’m not. I’ve done bad things. Extremely bad things.”

Jim had known they’d have to deal with this eventually. “You mean you’ve killed people.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t stop loving you. If I could, it wouldn’t bring anyone back to life, would it? “

“James, you don’t know everything about me.”

“You’d be surprised how much I know.” Jim said softly. “Like those two ‘college students’ whose bodies we found. I’m not saying those guys deserved to die, or that you had the right to do it. But, they weren’t students. They’d been on a spree, robbing check-cashing places and they’d killed two people. You didn’t find any evidence of that in the vehicle, because they’d just stolen it. There’s a reason the one guy’s mother wasn’t interested in ransom. He’d beaten her up and put her in the hospital more than once. I suspected it was you who killed them, and I don’t want to know the details. I’m just saying, life isn’t all black and white. And the most important thing to me-is you’ve been changing. You’ve been finding other ways to conduct business.” 

“I want to be better. For you.” Oswald’s voice was shaky. “But I don’t know if I can ever be good enough for you.”

“I’ve let you, and everybody else, think that I came to Gotham to be super-cop, and clean up the town-but that’s not the whole story. Part of the reason I came to Gotham, is that I couldn’t get a job anywhere else. The GCPD was desperate. They’ll take just about anybody, even someone who’s just spent a year in a psychiatric hospital.”

“In a what?”

“I was in the army for over a decade. Planned to make a career of it. I was Special Forces. I was in a situation, where I was captured and tortured. I survived-some of my friends didn’t, and I killed one of the people responsible. It wasn’t combat- it was murder. Revenge. I should have been court martialed, but it was covered up. Officially, I’m a war hero. I had a breakdown, got sent to the nuthouse, and got an honorable discharge. Maybe being a guard at Arkham isn’t such a bad thing, because I’ll feel right at home. So, does any of that make you not love me anymore? Knowing I’m a murderer? Knowing I live my life on the thin edge of being certifiably crazy? Knowing that I have no idea where I could go, other than Gotham, and find a job?”

“James, it’s all right. It’s all right.” Oswald pulled the covers over Jim’s shoulders, and held him. “I love you, no matter what.” He massaged Jim’s neck, and stroked his hair, until Jim fell asleep. Oswald had trouble getting his mind around everything he’d just been told. Jim was so much more vulnerable than Oswald had realized; he’d suffered through so much more than Oswald had suspected.  
_________________________________________________________

The next few days, they tried to forget about everything except enjoying each other. Anna took them to her favorite museum, the Norton Simon in Pasadena, where Jim almost got them all thrown out. He kept Oswald in stitches, cracking jokes about the erotic art in the Asian collection, until a guard had to ask them to keep it down. “I swear, Jim!” Anna laughed as they left. “Sometimes I think you’re still twelve years old!” They drove to San Diego and spent a whole day at the zoo. For New Year’s Eve, Jim’s nieces drove down for dinner.

Heather was a serious, obviously brilliant, conservative looking young woman with long blonde hair. Holly, her identical twin, had died her hair bright purple, and wore overalls that looked like a thrift store find- along with hot pink running shoes, multiple piercings, and tattoos- two full sleeves. Both girls obviously adored their Uncle Jim. After dinner, Holly cornered Oswald on the patio while Heather kept everyone else busy by describing her favorite areas of research. “Just give ‘em the ol’ razzle-dazzle,” Holly had told her. “No one will have the least idea what you’re talking about, they’ll all be polite and pretend to be interested, and I’ll grill Uncle Oswald like he’s the catch of the day.”

Oswald provided Holly with a somewhat sanitized version of his life story. “How about the part where Uncle Jim got arrested for murdering you and you showed up alive? The Gotham Gazette ran a story on it.”

“That comes under the category of “shit happens.”

“Do you work for the Mob?”

“Nobody calls it that.”

“What happened to your leg?”

“An accident in a restaurant.”

Finally Holly, who hadn’t gotten a single straight answer, said “Fuck it. Listen, I visited Uncle Jim once in Gotham, for a weekend. I stayed with him and Barbara. I heard them talking in the kitchen-he didn’t want me to know they had separate bedrooms. He tried to put his arm around her once, in front of me, and she pulled away and looked at him like he was insane. Then she looked at me and turned red. She forgot they were supposed to be keeping up appearances, probably because she’d had too much to drink. He was miserable the whole time he was with her. But with you-I’ve never seen him this happy. You can’t stop touching each other. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. So I don’t care if you’re a hit man, or an identity thief, or if you eat roast puppies for dinner with a side order of kittens.

“I’m in love with him.”

“Good enough for me. Welcome to the family.” 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The last night they were there, they exchanged Christmas gifts. 

Oswald gave Jim a wristwatch-a much more expensive one than Jim could afford. The back was engraved: “To my Hero, with Love Always.”

“I love it. It’s perfect!” Jim slipped his arm around Oswald’s waist.

Oswald took forever to open his package. He picked at every piece of tape, and carefully unknotted the ribbon. Finally, he opened the box. The first thing he saw was a gold pocket watch. “James-this is an antique!”

“It was my grandfather’s. It’s got a chain with it-I thought it’d look good with those suits you wear. I wanted you to have it. The thing I got especially for you is in that little box.”

It was a ring box. Inside, was a gold ring, with an ice blue stone. It wasn’t large or showy, but when the light hit it, it was brilliant.

“It’s an aquamarine. Look inside the band.”

It was engraved: “For all Eternity.” “Here”, Jim said, “Let me put it on.” He put the ring on Oswald’s right hand. “I wish it was a wedding ring.”

Oswald tried not to cry. He succeeded in limiting himself to a few tears, as he wrapped his arms around Jim’s neck. “I love you, too.”

“There’s still something in the box,” Jim whispered. 

Oswald looked. “James Gordon! Shame on you! Exactly what is this ?!?” 

Jim grinned. “There’s a manual with suggestions for things to do with it. And it vibrates!”

Oswald collapsed on the bed, laughing.


	11. The Damned Don't Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we find out more about The Man who's been spying on Oswald and Jim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter that's been in my head for quite a while. The character is not an original one, so you may have a bit of fun guessing who he is-then again, I may have made it too obvious. He's going to pop up in another chapter soon, and reveal his identity in what I hope will be a surprising way.

Night in Gotham. The filth and grime that made Gotham an eyesore in the daylight vanished by night, mercifully masked by darkness. The sparkle of thousands of twinkling lights acted as a cosmetic, creating a mirage that promised excitement and adventure to those naïve enough to believe such things existed. On this particular night, The Man was driving away from the city, driving into the suburbs -where upper middle class homeowners had already locked their doors, and settled in for their safe, cozy evenings. At night, the suburbs were empty of traffic, and no one was outdoors. It was like driving on a desolate planet after some apocalypse had swept away all living things; and that was exactly how The Man liked it. 

Waiting for him, a few miles away, was Derwin Rooks, an employee at Lakeview Memorial Gardens. Unlike Willow Grove Park, Lakeview was a full service, modern cemetery, which included a crematorium. Flat bronze plates set into the ground took the place of monuments, and the landscaping was kept immaculately manicured. If there was any way to make a cemetery look less like a cemetery, the good folks at Lakeview hadn’t discovered it yet. 

Derwin Rooks stood outside, back of the main buildings, smoking a cigarette. He was a tall, muscular, pragmatic young man. Squeamishness was not in his nature; his strong suit was that almost nothing ever bothered him. A child of he inner city, he’d been a pretty good football player in high school, but not good enough to win any full ride college scholarships. He was clever, in his own way - good with puzzles, and good with figuring out how to bend the rules and come out on top. He enjoyed spending money; the jobs he was qualified for didn’t pay well enough to buy what he wanted- cars, clothes, and impressive gifts for his girlfriends. Derwin had become what he called a “specialty pimp”. He’d made friends with the mortician who did the embalming at Lakeview, and discovered that he too, was often short of cash. So, they had a business going on the side.

It was amazing how much their customers would pay to be alone with a dead body for a little while-especially if said body fit certain requirements. They had to have rules, of course, about what could and couldn’t be done, and every circumstance was unique. Still, they did extremely well for themselves. 

The Man was Derwin’s favorite customer. He said little, paid extravagantly well- more than anyone else- and best of all; he didn’t leave a mess for Derwin to clean up. Derwin had called him as soon as he knew Margaret Shannon was on her way; she was his type. Timing was everything, if a body was headed for cremation without embalming. Within eight to twelve hours of death, the body extremities would start to turn blue, and things went downhill from there without refrigeration. 

Margaret had been sixteen when, that afternoon, she’d decided to put her head in an “exit bag” after taking a whopping dose of pain killers. It was Derwin’s good fortune that she had chosen a method that left her body unblemished. The Man would arrive a mere four hours after her death. He heard the car before he saw it; a beat up old green Subaru that he knew couldn’t possibly be The Man’s main ride. 

The Man was tall, lean, and gave the impression of being both strong and agile. He was careful to appear non-descript, ordinary and generic in the way he dressed. He always wore mirrored aviator style sunglasses and a knit cap, and carried a camera bag. Wordlessly, he handed Derwin an envelope full of cash, and Derwin let him inside. Then Derwin went back out to smoke another cigarette. 

The man smiled when he saw Margaret. She was stunningly beautiful, despite the “pallor mortis” that had settled over her once luminous skin. Her rosebud lips and lushly lashed eyes had already been glued shut; she looked like a girl who was merely asleep. Best of all, she was still dressed in the uniform that she’d worn that day to school-plaid skirt, white blouse, knee socks. Jackpot. He pulled off his cap, and moved a folding chair where he could sit and talk to her. For the next half hour, he conversed with Margaret; it was such a relief to have someone understanding to talk with. He told her about his life; told her funny stories, and they laughed together at things that no one else would understand. He knew their time was limited, so he got to work with his camera; a skilled photographer, he took portraits of her from every possible angle. She was his perfect angel, and when their time was up, he hated to leave her. 

As he left, he handed Derwin another envelope. Derwin already knew what was inside- a special tip for him that he had to share with no one. The Man had been pleased. As The Man drove away, Derwin already knew something else-the body would be completely untouched and undisturbed. He wasn’t sure what the Man did in there. The Man had explained- once- that that it’d be unhealthy to get curious, and when The Man spoke, the hair on the back of Derwin’s neck stood up. Derwin was smart enough to be grateful for the money, and let everything else take care of itself.

The Man drove back to Gotham, thrilled with his evening. He headed for the most exclusive part of the city, to the state of the art building where he lived. The security there was impeccable. A guard let him into the underground parking facility. From there, a card allowed him to enter the elevator to the lobby. More guards greeted him at the front desk, and another card allowed him to access the elevator that served- only -his floor. There was only one other condo on the top floor; it was occupied by the aged widow of a mob boss that had died in Chicago two decades earlier. She never seemed to have visitors, other than servants and medical personnel. She was certainly quiet, as was he.

Inside, the condo was a gleaming world unto itself. The walls were largely glass, providing breath-taking views of the city. The décor was strictly modern, in black, white, and shades of gray. Chrome, lustrous black lacquer, and mirrored surfaces bounced light back and forth. The interior walls were adorned with high priced examples of modern photographs and prints. The condo featured an attached greenhouse, which was home to an extensive collection of exotic orchids. 

As he entered, The Man realized something was wrong- even though there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere, or a smudge, or a scratch. He scanned the living room, stepped over to a glass and chrome coffee table. He pulled out a tape measure. He was right; a mineral specimen was sitting an entire quarter of an inch south of where it was supposed to be. He shook his head, annoyed. The padding underneath the carpeting must not be absorbing the vibrations of his movements, as it should. He’d have to see about that. 

He took the camera bag into his favorite room-the bedroom. Everything in the room was black, including the walls, carpet, and bedclothes. In front of a glass wall was a computer set up; and on the other walls, and the ceiling, were monitors, of varying sizes. The room he used as an office was set up in a similar fashion, but he enjoyed lying in bed and watching whatever he was in the mood for. Sometimes, all the monitors were filled with images of his perfect angels- he had quite a collection of them. Sometimes, he watched images from all over Gotham. One household, from different angles; or a multiplicity; it was his choice. He was something of a prodigy when it came to technology, and had installed equipment in the homes of literally hundreds of people. Breaking and entering was a specialty of his; no one ever even knew that he had been there. 

He changed into black silk pajamas, and lay down. Using a remote control, he noodled around. The Man was gratified when he checked in on Jim and Oswald; they were doing something different. Jim was on his back, his wrists handcuffed over his head, with handcuffs that were attached to the headboard. There were pillows beneath his hips and lower back. Oswald was touching him, massaging him, kissing him-doing everything very, very slowly. He stroked and sucked Jim, massaged his thighs, and then began licking him open. Jim made wonderful noises- noises that expressed need, and hunger, and desire. The Man enjoyed the noises.

Oswald squeezed lube into his hand, and began fingering Jim. He had something else that he was coating with lube; it was some sort of dildo. The Man liked the look of that, and brought a close up view onto one of the monitors. It didn’t look painfully large, but it wasn’t small, either. Oswald gradually inserted its entire length into Jim, then occasionally did something to it that caused it to vibrate. He left it in, then moved up to kiss Jim passionately. They made eye contact, and Jim gave him that sweet, humbly obedient look, that told Oswald he was ready for more. Oswald moved back, removed the toy and folded Jim’s legs up just the right way. He fucked Jim slowly, deeply, as Jim eagerly shoved his hips up to meet him. After a few minutes, Oswald withdrew, and started all over again with the touching, massaging, and kissing. At this point, he was careful not to touch Jim’s erection; not with his hands, or any part of his body. He kept up the rhythm of fucking, stopping; fucking, stopping; ignoring Jim’s pleading for Oswald to finish him.

The Man brought up images of the lovers from different angles. He never touched himself; he simply inhaled, and exhaled in time to Oswald’s rhythm. The Man spread his arms open, lying on his back, inhaling and exhaling; feeding on the raw emotion he felt coming off the lovers in waves of heat. He fed on their passion, their desire for each other; he was a parasite, inhaling their energy and concentrating it within his body. 

Oswald prolonged the proceedings for an agonizingly long time, as Jim writhed, and squirmed; until Jim was reduced to a twitching, begging mess. Only then did Oswald reward Jim by pleasuring the swollen, leaking part of him that had been so cruelly neglected. Jim climaxed just as Oswald came inside of him. Oswald licked Jim clean, and kissed him on the mouth, before unlocking the handcuffs.

The Man felt as if he was levitating; hanging in the warm air above the bed as a tingling started in his core; an electric current that stimulated every nerve ending in his body, that spread and swelled until the sensation became a seamless blending of pleasure and pain. It seemed that a thousand angelic beings had clamped their mouths shut on him, mouths filled with needle like teeth, sharp as broken glass. He held his breath, and attained his own solitary release at the same time as the lovers. 

Oswald examined Jim’s wrists, which had been carefully wrapped to prevent chafing. He still didn’t much like restraining Jim like this, but he did it because Jim asked. Jim told him that sometimes he got tired of being strong for everyone else, and he wanted Oswald to be in control of him. Jim said he found it relaxing. Oswald didn’t argue, but he was exceedingly careful to avoid hurting Jim. 

The lovers curled up together, and fell asleep. The Man liked watching that, too. What they felt for each other was alien to him, but he recognized that it was something rare and precious-like one of his orchids. He didn’t find it very often, despite all the citizens of Gotham whose lives were available for his viewing pleasure.

As he fell asleep, The Man recalled a conversation he’d once had with someone who asked him if he was afraid of dying and going to hell. “Not at all,” he responded, “because I know for a fact that there is no God.” The other person asked him how he knew. “Because if there was such a thing as a merciful God, I wouldn’t be allowed to exist.”

The Man slept peacefully. He always did.


	12. The Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Oswald have a misunderstanding. The serial killer claims another victim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My intention was to write a chapter in which Oswald and Jim have a fight, but the misunderstanding never got that far.  
> Fans of "the Addams Family" will recognize "Cara Mia" and "Mon Chéri" as expressions of affection between Gomez and Morticia. Gomez and Morticia Addams were the first married couple on American TV implied to have a sex life.  
> The movie that Oswald misquotes is, of course, Casablanca. The actual quote is this:“The wow finish. A guy standing on a station platform in the rain with a comical look in his face because his insides have been kicked out.”- Rick Blaine, Casablanca (1942)  
> This chapter takes place after episode 11.

Oswald had had a bad day. A spectacularly bad day. More than anything, he wanted to see Jim. He’d been trying to call him for several hours, with no luck. Unknown to Oswald, or Jim, the battery in Jim’s phone was dead. At home, Oswald took a long, hot shower; spending the night in jail had been humiliating. Harvey might have released him, for Jim’s sake, but there were too many people watching. Being called a monkey, by an ape like Maroni, hadn’t improved Oswald’s mood. The only thing he wanted in the whole world was to feel Jim’s arms around him. He called for a cab, having decided that he couldn’t wait any longer to see the one person who could make him feel better. 

Oswald felt nervous. He’d never surprised Jim by showing up unexpectedly, not since they’d gotten involved- but why shouldn’t he? They were in love; they were devoted to each other. Why should this feel like such a big deal? Yes, they’d agreed to meet only once a week, but Oswald didn’t want to wait for the weekend. He’d tried to call Jim, but couldn’t reach him - so what? Oswald told himself he was being ridiculous. Jim would be thrilled to see him-he always was.

In the elevator at Jim’s building, he found himself alone with a gorgeous woman, with lustrous brown hair and large, sparkling eyes that shone with amusement-or perhaps, expectation. She was carrying a basket, rather like a small lidless picnic basket, which held a bottle of wine and two glasses. She smiled at Oswald. He smiled back, and spoke: “Looks like you’ve planned a romantic evening with someone special.” 

“I certainly hope so!” she replied. “Let’s just say I have a good feeling about this.” She winked at Oswald.

“Good for you! Best wishes to you.” Oswald and the woman got off on the same floor. He let her exit first, and she walked ahead of him. His heart nearly stopped beating when she paused at the door of Jim’s apartment. He hurried past her, and got around the corner before the door opened. When he looked back, she was entering the apartment. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He stood there, unable to move, unable to decide what to do. This must all be some kind of mistake. He had a key to the apartment; all he had to do was use it, to find out what was going on. Still, he couldn’t move; and his hands were shaking.

Inside the apartment, Jim was anxiously treading water as fast as he could. Leslie had surprised him, he’d had no idea she was planning to drop by- and her intentions were unmistakable. He liked her, as a potential friend, and realized she’d been flirting with him at work- but he never thought she’d show up at his apartment without an invitation. He didn’t want to offend her. He hated this kind of situation. They made small talk; she got out the bottle of wine she’d brought, took it and the glasses into the kitchen, and requested a corkscrew. They stood in the kitchen, and Jim took a sip of the wine.

“This is very good.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”

More small talk, with Jim nervously casting about for safe, neutral topics.

“You seem a bit nervous.” She was still smiling. Did she ever not smile? 

“Well, honestly, I am.” Jim figured they may as well get things out in the open. 

“Don’t be.” She suddenly moved in on him, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him. Jim nearly threw the wine glass across the room. He managed to sit it down, then gently took hold of her shoulders and pushed her away. He’d kept his lips firmly pressed together, and hoped she’d gotten the message. 

“Leslie.” He said. “You’re a stunning, intelligent, amazing person. But you don’t know me, and well, I have to tell you.” Jim’s mind was racing. He didn’t know her well enough to tell her about Oswald, or even that he had a boyfriend. “ I’m just not in the market for a relationship, not right now. My life is in a state of transition, and there’s a lot I need to figure out. So, there you have it.”

“ Jim, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I hope we can be friends.”

“Of course we can. I’d like that, very much.” They went and sat down in the living room. They chatted for a while, and then Leslie left. Jim shut the apartment door behind her with a sigh of relief. 

What neither of them had noticed was the door to the apartment opening quietly, a little while earlier. Oswald had slipped in, noiselessly, and listened to their conversation. He’d looked into the kitchen just in time to see- what appeared to him-as Jim and the woman kissing. He’d turned and fled before he saw Jim push her away. 

Oswald was in a daze. This had to be a bad dream, the worst nightmare of his life. This wasn’t happening. Jim wouldn’t cheat on him. Oswald walked through the parking lot-there was Jim’s car. He walked over to the car, and put his hand on it; dropped his umbrella; he was determined, he wasn’t going to cry. He limped out to the street, and started walking. He was several blocks away before he realized that he’d dropped his umbrella. His damaged leg was hurting badly. He’d become disoriented, and wasn’t sure what neighborhood he was in. He managed to hail a cab, then gave the cabbie a route that would take them around the city before they circled back to Oswald’s apartment. He didn’t want to go home. 

He had the cab stop at a liquor store. Once he entered, he realized he had no idea what he was going to buy. He wasn’t much of a drinker. When the clerk asked him what he was looking for, he responded: “Cyanide.” The clerk looked at him blankly. Oswald grabbed a bottle of bourbon; Jim’s favorite brand, not that it mattered.

Back at the small, furnished apartment he rented, he sat the brown paper bag on the coffee table, turned around to lock the door-and promptly tripped, falling and hitting his face on the interior doorjamb. Now he had a black eye on one side, and the other side of his face was scraped and bleeding. Lovely. 

To hell with it. He didn’t have to go in to work the next day-Don Maroni had told him to take a day off, to “reflect” on his misdeeds. Fuck it. Fuck the whole world. He got a glass out of the kitchen. He knew he should eat first, but he wasn’t hungry. So he filled up the glass with bourbon, and started drinking. He sat on the floor in front of the worn couch. He drank as fast as he could make himself, hoping that it would help to ease the pain of the thoughts swirling in his head. Maybe there was an explanation for what he saw. Sure, there must be. Such as, why had he ever thought that Jim could love him in the first place? Jim was a good person, and Harvey was right-maybe Jim had simply felt sorry for him, and that had clouded Jim’s judgment. Jim had made a mistake, and was too kind to dump Oswald, so he was putting it off, trying to spare Oswald’s feelings. Jim had always been involved with women prior to Oswald-maybe Oswald had been an experiment, a diversion, and now Jim was getting his life back on track. Somewhere, in the back of Oswald’s mind, there had always been that voice- telling him that this was too good to be true. It couldn’t last. 

Oswald kept drinking, forcing himself to choke down the bourbon as quickly as he could. Maybe if he kept at it, he’d get lucky and die of alcohol poisoning. He was sweating, he felt unbearably hot; he took off his shoes and socks, and his jeans, and threw them aside. He began to get angry. Jim had deceived him; the lying, cheating bastard. He was Oswald Cobblepot, and he was going to be a force to be reckoned with in Gotham. No one could stop him. He didn’t need Jim, he didn’t need anyone. When he saw Jim again, he would tell him to go to the devil. Oswald would make dramatic gestures, point to the door, and tell Jim to go back to his whore. He would take the key to Jim’s apartment and throw it at him. He would refuse to let Jim touch him. He would be dignified, he wouldn’t show Jim how much he hurt. 

He started drinking out of the bottle. He started to think about how sorry Jim would be if he threw himself in the river and drowned, for real. He would wish he hadn’t betrayed Oswald, for a horrible woman with a bottle of cheap wine. That probably wasn’t even her natural hair color, the miserable whore. She didn’t care about Jim, she couldn’t, not the way Oswald did. No one would ever love Jim as much as Oswald did, and Jim, the idiot, was too stupid to see it. He should go back to Jim’s apartment and hang himself. Jim would come home from work and find Oswald hanging there, dead, swinging slowly back and forth.

Oswald was sure he was dying. No one could hurt this much and not die. He had a lot to drink, for him, and it hadn’t helped at all. It was almost daylight. He thought about a line from a movie- “And there I was, with my insides kicked out and a funny look on my face.” His insides had been kicked out. He wanted Jim to come and put his arms around him, and make everything all right. He thought about Jim touching that awful woman. Kissing her. Unbuttoning her blouse. He thought about them going into Jim’s bedroom-to the same bed where he and Jim made love, so many times, how could Jim even be in that room without thinking of Oswald. The thought made him sick. His stomach started to churn. 

He realized, too late, that he would never make it to the bathroom in time. He tried, but ended up on his hands and knees in the hallway, puking his guts out. He got up, and fell against the wall, using it to prop himself up; he got to the bathroom, and threw up again, and again, until he had the dry heaves. He flushed the toilet and stood up, shakily; he managed to pee, and flush the toilet again. At least he hadn’t pissed himself in the living room floor. He still had his dignity.

He sank to the floor by the toilet, and started to cry. He sobbed until he couldn’t breathe, and threw up again, and then he went back to sobbing. He made horrible, broken sounds as he wept, and he said Jim’s name, over and over. When he tried to get up again, the room was spinning, and he sank down on the cold tile floor, as everything went black.

On his way to work that morning, Jim saw the umbrella lying next to his car. That was strange; he immediately thought of Oswald, but of course, there were hundreds of umbrellas in Gotham that looked just like that. The day at work was nightmarish, as always, dealing with the aftermath of recent events. It was almost time to go home when he finally got to exchange a few words with Leslie. “I hope I didn’t offend you last night.”

“Not at all.” She looked at Jim mischievously. “You can’t blame a girl for trying. It’s a shame the “best wishes” I got from the man in the elevator didn’t do me any good. He seemed like such a nice guy. Too bad about that limp.”

Jim turned away. What if Oswald had come over, and seen Leslie go into his apartment? He ducked into an empty room and tried to call Oswald. Voicemail. Jim had a bad feeling about this. He hurried home and changed, tried to call again. Voicemail. He knew it was a bad idea for him to be seen going to Oswald’s apartment, but his nerves were getting the better of him, and he had a key, so he decided to go. When he was half way there, he began to feel annoyed. If Oswald had seen Leslie, why should it be an issue? Wasn’t he supposed to have friends? It’s not as if she was dressed like a hooker. He hoped Oswald wasn’t going to be dramatic over absolutely nothing. Why wasn’t Oswald answering his phone?

When Jim let himself into the apartment, the smell of bourbon hit him in the face. He saw the overturned bottle in the floor; the blood on the doorjamb. There was blood on Oswald’s gray hoodie, which was lying in the floor. Blood on the wall of the hallway, right above a spot where someone had thrown up. He followed the hall past the empty bedroom, to the bathroom. 

Jim pushed the bathroom door open, and there was Oswald, lying on the tile in a pathetic heap. His wet hair was stuck to his face, and he was paler than Jim had ever seen him. He was shivering, wearing only briefs and a tee shirt flecked with vomit. He had a black eye, and one side of his face looked like he’d had a close encounter with a cheese grater. Worst of all, he was crying, sobbing so loudly he hadn’t heard Jim come in. 

“Oh dear God, Ozzie, what happened?” He’d never seen Oswald like this, and he’d never seen him cry. It was frightening. 

Jim knelt down next to Oswald, who managed to get out a few words in between sobs. “Don’t touch me, I came to see you, that’s not even her real hair color!”

Oswald tried to keep talking, but he couldn’t stop crying, and he was choking again. Jim lifted him to his feet, and held him; spotted a bottle of mouthwash on the sink, and a plastic cup. “Here, get that taste out of your mouth.” Jim turned on the shower, pulled off Oswald’s clothes as well as his own, and lifted him in. He held Oswald up, under the warm water, washing him. Oswald clung to Jim, unable to stop sobbing. 

“Ozzie, I don’t know what you saw last night, but this is all a mistake. A woman from work dropped by, made a pass at me, and I set her straight and sent her away. Nothing happened between us. I’d never cheat on you. Please stop crying, I can’t stand it.”

Oswald finally stopped crying long enough to say “James. James, don’t. Don’t leave me.” Then he started sobbing again. So much for dignity.

“I’m not going to leave you.” Jim had the idea that he should be angry, but instead, all he could think about was how awful it made him feel, that Oswald was crying. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

Jim toweled Oswald off, and helped him get dressed; then cleaned up the disaster areas while Oswald brushed his teeth repeatedly. “C’mon, we’re going to my place. I don’t care what day of the week it is, this once a week thing sucks. We’re going to have to figure out something different. Neither of us needs to go through a week like this and not even be able to see each other.”

Oswald was quiet on the ride over. At least, Jim thought, he’d stopped crying, although he looked terrible. When they got inside, Oswald put his arms around Jim. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted you. I saw her kiss you and I panicked.”

“If I thought you were cheating on me, I’d go just as crazy. Probably, worse.” Jim took Oswald into the bedroom. Usually that signaled that Jim had something carnal on his mind, but tonight he just wanted to hold Oswald and comfort him. “Promise me that if you’re ever that upset again, you’ll talk to me before you try to poison yourself, rather than afterwards. Better yet, understand that I’m completely monogamous. Just like I know you are.” Jim kissed the length of Oswald’s arm, up to his neck. “Cara Mia.”

Oswald ran his hands through Jim’s hair. “Mon Chéri.”

 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was a busy night at Fish Mooney’s nightclub. One of the many patrons thoroughly enjoying the evening’s festivities was Tony Baldinitti. Tony was a promising, enterprising young man; who was part of a group of enterprising young men; who worked for Don Falcone as his personal “security detail”. He was almost a walking cliché- being very tall, very dark, and very handsome. If not for the fact that his nose had been broken several times, he would have been a classic beauty. His near perfect physique and persuasive smile assisted him in charming anyone he wanted to charm. Secretly, he was vain; outwardly, he presented himself as good-humored and bighearted.  
Tonight was a night of personal triumph, because the most alluring woman in the club was leaving with him.

He’d never seen her before- no one had; but once she was there, no one could take their eyes off her. She was one of those women that everyone was sure was famous- an actress, perhaps, or a model-but no one could quite place her. She told him her name was Clarrisa. She was wearing a vintage black velvet cocktail dress; a designer item that cost a small fortune, and it set off her blonde updo perfectly. Had Tony been more of a movie buff, he might have compared her to the way Kim Novak looked in Hitchcock’s “Vertigo.” Tony enjoyed how Fish Mooney cut her eyes at Clarissa, knowing that she was jealous over her stealing the spotlight. Fish’s laughable idea of “class” was an outfit that featured feathers, sequins, rhinestones, and plenty of skin. Tony had convinced Clarissa that they should leave the club for somewhere more intimate. 

He went outside to wait for his driver to bring the car around, telling Clarissa he’d be back inside to get her in just a moment. It was pouring rain; Tony stood under a large black umbrella, lighting a cigarette. The sidewalk was empty, except for one person-a nun, huddled under an umbrella, hurried by, her long black habit soaked at the hem. Tony’d just had time to wonder what the woman was doing all by herself at this time of night, when she tripped and fell into a huge puddle right at the entrance of an alley. He went over to help her up. It was the last thing that Tony ever did in this life.

A few minutes later, the car pulled up; a few more, Clarissa came outside, searching for her missing date. There was no sign of Tony. Petulantly, she went back inside. She wasn’t used to being stood up like that. The driver got out, and began to search. A few hours later, he called the Falcone mansion to report that Tony Baldinitti had seemingly been wiped off the face of the earth, leaving nothing behind.


	13. Dark Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald gets kidnapped, and his unlikely rescuer is the voyeur who's been watching Oswald and Jim. The identity of the voyeur is revealed. In an unrelated incident, Harvey Dent is also kidnapped, but his fate remains unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Rosa Moline" is the name of a character played by Bette Davis in the 1949 film "Beyond the Forest". It's sometimes called a film Noir, but personally I consider it a melodrama. The film is so bad it's funny. It's referenced in "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf", a play written in 1962 by Edward Albee, and of course in the film of the same name.   
> "Mildred Pierce" is a hard-boiled novel written in 1941 by James M. Cain. In 1945, it was adapted into a film starring Joan Crawford as Mildred Pierce. She won the Academy Award for best actress for that role. The film, unfortunately, was a highly sanitized version of the book. The book is well worth reading.

Oswald was exhausted; it had been a long, tedious day. Anyone who thought that being a mobster was some sort of glamorous, Hollywood-style occupation had never spent a day dealing with something as utterly boring as money laundering. His driver dropped him off in front of his apartment building, and he wearily began to unlock the door to the lobby. 

He heard something; before he could turn around, a hand clamped down over his mouth. He tried to fight, to get to his knife, but they had the better of him. Someone grabbed his arms, twisting them behind him, and knocked him off his feet. Someone else was choking him, and then everything was fading away.

He felt himself falling. He was falling towards the water, because Jim pushed him. He sank deeper and deeper, until the water was black and he inhaled the blackness. He broke into fragments, shattering like glass.

He was in the backseat of a car. He was fifteen years old. He was sitting next to a younger boy, who was perhaps all of twelve. Tommie. Tommie was crying. There were two men there with them. One of them had his arm around Tommie. The other had his hand on Oswald’s leg. Oswald wasn’t crying; he never cried. He looked at Tommie and smiled. “Don’t cry, it’s all going to be OK.” It was a lie, but Tommie stopped crying. Oswald closed his eyes and went away.

He had no idea how long he drifted in and out of consciousness. He was somewhere dark, and over-heated. There were stale smells, of cigarettes and cheap cigars, and even cheaper cologne. He could hear men’s voices, people moving around; but he couldn’t make out what anyone was saying. His wrists and ankles were bound with duct tape; he was gagged with some sort of foul tasting rag. He was lying on a bed; it was lumpy and uncomfortable. 

He opened his eyes. A man said, “Go get the boss. ” A few minutes later he heard a familiar voice. “Hello, Oswald.”

It was Fish Mooney. His eyes weren’t focusing properly, but he could see her through the haze. “I do hope you won’t take this personally; but I’m going to have to kill you tonight. This time, I’m going to watch you die. So there are no more mistakes.” She turned to the man who’d originally spoken; Oswald recognized him as Billy Dowty, someone he’d worked with in the old days at the club. “I’ll be back when I finish the books.” He could hear her high heels clicking down the hall. 

Billy blindfolded Oswald. “Miss Mooney says we can have some fun with you before you die. I’ll bet I can make you scream.” Billy twisted a handful of Oswald’s hair and pulled until Oswald’s eyes watered. Then he grabbed Oswald’s butt and gave it a squeeze. Oswald tried to squirm away; Billy laughed, and gave his ass a painfully hard smack. 

Oswald knew he had to think; he had to clear his mind. There was a way out, there always was. He had to be ready to seize upon any opportunity-to negotiate, to bribe, to wheedle. Images of Jim came into his mind. He might never see Jim again; he couldn’t let himself think about that. He tested his restraints; they held. He made noises, around the gag, hoping someone would give him a chance to talk. “Be quiet, bitch. Or I’ll give you something to make noise about.” Billy slid a hand around to Oswald’s crotch. “You want something to make noise about?” Oswald held very still, and was very quiet.

“Jesus, Billy, quit groping the dead guy!” It was Butch Gilzean’s voice. “You’re disgusting, you know that?”

“He ain’t dead yet, and Miss Mooney said we could have some fun.” 

“Yeah, somebody told your parents it was Ok for first cousins to have fun and look what happened.” Butch paused. “Miss Mooney hasn’t said for sure about anything except he’s gonna die. So do your job and keep an eye on him.” 

Oswald heard the door open and close. “Asshole,” Billy muttered.

The Man walked up to the door of the room; saw that it was unlatched; and quietly pushed it open. A man was leaning over Oswald, unzipping Oswald’s pants while Oswald struggled. He was so engrossed in what he was doing, that he didn’t notice The Man had entered the room; until he felt The Man’s hands on him, and then Billy’s neck was broken and his body was thrown into a corner.

Oswald heard something heavy hit the floor. Then footsteps; someone’s breath near his ear, and a voice he didn’t recognize. “Be absolutely quiet. I’m here to help you.” Silence. The door opening again: “Hey, Billy..........” Something else heavy hitting the floor. The door closing. Silence. The door opening again. Things being dragged across the floor. “Put them in a pile on the other side of the bed, Mr. Gilzean. That will do nicely. Now, release Mr. Cobblepot. If you injure him in the least, I’ll kill you. “Yes, sir.” Butch pulled the rag out of Oswald’s mouth, and began to peel away the duct tape. When he removed the blindfold, and Oswald saw his rescuer-he couldn’t believe who it was. 

The Man was pointing a gun at Butch. “Lie Down”

“Now, Mr. Cobblepot. May I impose upon you, to take this roll of duct tape and restrain Mr. Gilzean in the same manner that you were incapacitated?” Oswald did as he was told, and as he worked he saw the pile of bodies by the bed. The ones on top had been shot in the back of the head. He gagged and blindfolded Butch, once his hands and feet were bound. 

“Thank you. Now we’re going to join the soirée.”

The Man led Oswald out, into the almost empty nightclub. 

Fish Mooney was sitting at a table; beside her, on the floor, were three more dead men. Two women were holding Fish at gunpoint. One was a tall, exquisite woman with ebony skin and closely cropped red hair, wearing a blue leather jumpsuit and wicked looking silver jewelry The other woman was pale, and had long silky black hair that reached to her waist. She was heavily made up, with full red lips. Her outfit looked like a schoolgirl uniform- a plaid micro miniskirt, a navy blazer, white blouse, and a red cravat.

The Man sat down at a table across from Fish, and motioned for Oswald to sit with him. “I’m being rather rude I’m afraid. Mr. Cobblepot, I’d like you to meet my associates.” He gestured to the tall woman-“This is Miss Rosa Moline, and this other delightful young woman is Miss Mildred Pierce.” Oswald couldn’t help it-he laughed, nervously. 

The Man seemed pleased. “I’m so glad someone gets my sense of humor.”

Oswald had never seen Fish look frightened before. “What do you want, Mr. Zsasz?”

“Don Falcone struck a deal with Don Maroni; this man is now Don Maroni’s property. Killing him, no matter how carefully you dispose of the body, will create suspicion and ill will. That wouldn’t be in Don Falcone’s best interests. Would it? What a shame you embarked upon this foolishness without asking for permission.” 

Fish was sweating. Victor turned to Oswald. “Would you be so good as to fix Miss Mooney a drink? Something strong. And please hand me my bag, it’s sitting on the bar.”  
Oswald filled the largest glass he could find with straight vodka and a couple of ice cubes, and set it on the table in front of Fish without looking at her. 

Victor’s bag was a black leather, antique doctor’s bag. “I’d drink that quickly, Miss Mooney.” He pulled several pairs of extraction forceps and some gauze out of his bag. 

Oswald felt nauseous. He wasn’t enjoying this. Fish had meant to kill him, but he felt sorry for her. 

Mildred and Rosa each picked up a pair of forceps. Mildred grabbed her head, and jerked it backwards, so Fish was looking at the ceiling. Rosa jammed the forceps into Fish’s mouth. Rosa and Mildred took turns, and soon there was a pile of bloody teeth on the table. Victor didn’t seem to be paying attention-he was busy cutting tally marks into his arm with a case cutter. 

 

The noises were what got Oswald. The wet, sucking sounds, and the crunching, and the choked off screams. Fish had crippled him, she had called him a scaly faced bitch, but he hated this, he wanted it to stop. 

Victor began to look at Oswald intently. “Mr. Cobblepot, you don’t seem to like the entertainment. Would you prefer something different? Would you like to cut off some of Miss Mooney’s fingers?” 

“Please stop.”

“Stop?” Victor looked incredulous. He waved his hand at Rosa and Mildred. They stepped away from Fish, who had her hands over her mouth. Blood seeped through her fingers, dripped down the front of her dress. “I believe someone has been a bad influence on you, Mr. Cobblepot.” He threw the gauze on the table in front of Fish. “You should pack those wounds to stop the bleeding.” Rosa and Mildred rinsed off the instruments, re-placed them in Victor’s bag, and handed the bag to Oswald.

He told Oswald to follow him outside, where he gestured for Oswald to sit in the passenger seat of a black Aston Martin. “That worked out well. It’ll drive a wedge in between Gilzean and Mooney, because she was tortured and he wasn’t. She’ll start asking herself why he was left alive and untouched. All it takes is that little seed of doubt.”

Victor looked thoughtful. “I believe she’ll be making a move on Falcone soon; she’s been taking out people she thinks might get in her way, like Jimmy Saviano. Be flattered. She doesn’t know you work for Falcone. She just doesn’t want you advising Maroni, because you’re so much smarter than he is. By the way, that stunt you pulled with the fishermen-that was brilliant. You keep Maroni thinking he’s the boss, that you’re a screw-up, and he never suspects what you’re really doing.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt-but you missed the turn to where I live.” Oswald shifted anxiously in his seat.

“I’m taking you to Jim’s apartment. I assume you’ll want the comfort of being with your lover, after this experience. Don’t get upset-no one knows but me. But, I do have some advice for you.”

“About what?” Oswald thought this must be some bizarre dream; Victor Zsasz was chatting as if they were old friends.

“Look at what happened tonight. Your driver should never have left until you were safely inside. Furthermore, your building has no effective security and Jim’s building is worse. You both need to move, get two apartments in the same building, a secure building, under assumed names. I’ve written down some suggestions for apartment complexes that actually have security; look in the glove box.” Oswald extracted a sheet of paper.

“It’s inevitable, no matter what you do, that your relationship will, eventually, become an open secret. This is Gotham, after all. You’ll just have to figure out how to cope with it. Oh, and this “once a week” business is ridiculous.”

‘You seem to know a lot about us.” 

“Mr. Cobblepot-may I call you Oswald? I’m a collector. I collect many things. My favorite collection is secrets. I know more about many people in Gotham than they know about themselves. I’m extremely mischievous. “

More like ‘possessed by demons’, Oswald thought. “I haven’t yet thanked you for saving my life.”

“Think nothing of it. Don Falcone wants you alive. As for me, you and Jim have brought me so many hours of viewing pleasure. I thought I might find watching Jim and Barbara together amusing. Imagine my delight when you showed up, instead of her! The two of you are so madly, insanely in love-that’s a rare commodity, and it’s superbly gratifying to watch the heroic Jim Gordon frolicking in the bedroom with one of Gotham’s up and coming gangsters. I’m telling you this because-why not? You’ll never find all the equipment, in a million years, and you’re both going to be moving soon anyway. If you’re smart.”

“You’ve been watching us?” Oswald couldn’t keep the horror out of his voice. “In the bedroom?”

“Voyeurism is such a minor little kink. You needn’t make it sound like I’m a cannibal.”

He pulled up in front of Jim’s building. “Good evening, Oswald. I’ll wait until you’re inside.”

Oswald paused before exiting the car. “I owe you for this.”  
______________________________________________________________

Jim, of course, was beside himself; horrified, and furious over what had happened. Oswald was so tired, after telling Jim the bare bones version of the night’s events, he just wanted to go to bed. As for looking for surveillance equipment, Jim said it could wait until the next day. 

“If he gets off on watching us sleep, fine. I don’t give a rat’s ass.” Jim was massaging Oswald’s back. “One thing for sure-we’re moving. I’ll look at that list tomorrow.”

“Mmmm. A little to the left.”

“ He’s right about security, and right about us being a couple. It’s going to get out eventually. If we have apartments in the same building, we could spend every night together.”

Oswald rolled over and nestled his head on Jim’s chest. He’d never been happier to have Jim’s arms around him. “That sounds like paradise.” Oswald fell asleep in minutes. Jim lay awake, feeling overwhelmingly grateful for the existence of Victor Zsasz. Ironic, yes- but Jim would have been grateful to Satan himself, if he had rescued Oswald. Jim knew the risks when he and Oswald got involved-both of them had chosen dangerous professions. Knowing that, and dealing with the reality that he had almost lost the love of his life, were two different things.  
________________________________________________________________

Harvey Dent shut down his laptop, and packed his briefcase. He’d stayed later at the office than he’d intended to. He’d gotten involved in some chat rooms that catered to his personal tastes- in a variety of areas -that he wouldn’t exactly want made public. He made a strict distinction between his public and private personas, and he never worried about getting caught doing something that might prove embarrassing. In his entire life, he’d never found himself in a situation that he couldn’t talk himself out of. 

It had been a good day for Harvey; most days were. He was an optimist, he was successful, and he was easy on the eyes- if he did say so himself. He was a man with a baby face, excellent taste, and the unshakable conviction that the world had been created so that Harvey Dent could have a comfortable place to be.

The parking garage was deserted at this time of night. He drove out, and stopped a few blocks away to get take out food from his favorite Thai restaurant. As he was putting the bag in the car, a homeless man asked him for spare change. Harvey handed him a few dollars, then turned to leave. It seemed to Harvey that something stung the back of his neck.

The next thing he knew, he was in the trunk of a car. It wasn’t going to be such a good night for Harvey, after all.


	14. I Wake Up Screaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim suffers from PTSD. Oswald goes to Leslie for help. Jim and Gertrude come to an understanding. Harvey Dent re-appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronology-takes places between Episode 11 and Episode 12
> 
> I modeled my version of Gertrude, just a little, on Ma Jarrett from the 1949 film Noir "White Heat" starring James Cagney as Cody Jarrett. I think Gertrude is made out of tough stuff.

Harvey Dent was dreaming. He dreamed that he was Prometheus, chained to a mountain by Zeus as punishment for giving fire to mortals. It was cold, freezing cold on the mountaintop; an icy wind swept over him. The eagle had come to pluck at his flesh and consume his liver, to complete the punishment ordained by the Gods. He could hear the sound made by the eagle’s wings. 

He opened his eyes, and found himself eye to eye with a pigeon. He tried to move; he couldn’t. Groggy, he gradually became aware of his surroundings. He seemed to be outside of City Hall. He was bound with ropes, to something cold and unyielding. He was, truly, freezing; and felt that he was naked. Pigeons were perched on his arms and shoulders. It felt like one was on his head. There was some kind of mask on his face, and a very unpleasant smell accompanied it. He looked down. A crowd of people was looking up at him, with shocked expressions. Some were taking photos with their cellphones. He heard sirens; a hook and ladder and an ambulance pulled up. Firemen were shouting. The last thing he remembered before he passed out again was the feeling of strong hands lifting him, holding him, as the ropes were loosened. He was enjoying that feeling; he liked being supported, by those strong hands; and then everything faded away. The next time he opened his eyes he was in an emergency room. 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The night before Harvey Dent found himself eye to eye with a flock of pigeons, Oswald had been awakened by Jim screaming in his sleep. 

Jim strode across the parking lot towards his beat up old van. He was starving, and eager to get back to the dorm with the bags of fast food. He looked over his shoulder to find his roommate lagging behind. “Hey! What’cha doin’?”

Donnie was counting the change in his hand, his brows knit together, and he was chewing on his bottom lip the way he always did when he was puzzled about something. He looked up at Jim, and smiled that adorably loopy half smile of his. “ I swear, that bastard short changed me. It’ll only take a second.” Donnie turned and ran back into the McDonald’s, his coppery red curls blazing in the last rays of the late afternoon sun. Jim slid into the driver’s seat, and started sneaking fries out of the bag. He’d learned not to argue with Donnie, because Donnie-with his good ol’ boy drawl and his endlessly optimistic nature-could wait Jim out every time. 

A few seconds later, Jim heard a low rumble. The McDonald’s exploded in a ball of yellow and white flames. Building parts, body parts, and shrapnel showered over the van. Jim was running, running as hard as he cold, but everything was moving too slowly. He charged into the smoke; he couldn’t see; but he could hear Donnie, and Donnie was screaming. He was yelling Jim’s name, and Jim was yelling, too, and then a fireman grabbed Jim and was pulling on his arm, saying, “Who’s Donnie?” 

Jim pulled away, and the fireman said: “James, what’s the matter, wake up, you’re yelling, you’re having a nightmare!” 

Jim was thrashing, gasping for breath, sweating, his heart hammering. “I...I have to find him, he went inside, before the explosion.........”

“James, it’s me, it’s Oswald. There’s no explosion!” He held Jim’s face in his hands, forcing Jim to look at him. 

Jim stared like he was looking at something awful; slowly he came back to himself. “Oswald? Oh thank God, you’re all right. Thank God you’re here.” He allowed himself to be pulled into an embrace, to be rocked gently back and forth. 

By the time Oswald said, “Who’s Donnie?” again, Jim had fallen back asleep.

The next night was worse.

Jim walked out of the dorm. Donnie was standing a little distance away, talking to a group of other students. Donnie was laughing, his green eyes sparkling as he waved at Jim. He turned towards Jim and said something. Jim could see Donnie’s lips moving, but no sound was coming out. Jim’s ears were ringing. He tripped over a rock and fell, and he must have hit his head-everything got foggy, out of focus.

From there on, the dream was playback, exactly the way it had happened. He was chained to a wall; he was gagged. Four men in a small, unbearably hot room; one already wounded and in shock. Finally, after the sun had risen and set, they were given water. The sun rose again. One man was taken away, and shortly brought back unconscious. Next they took Donnie. The screaming started. It sounded just the way it always did, and then Jim was screaming too, screaming his lungs out, screaming like if he could just scream loud enough it might help........................

“James! James, please, PLEASE wake up, it’s a dream, it’s a dream!” Someone was on top of Jim, smaller than him; he threw the guy off and started for the door. He pulled the door open, felt someone’s arms around him. “No, James, you don’t know where you are, please come back and lie down!” 

Jim stood in the bedroom door, looking into the living room with a vacant expression. “This is wrong. I should be...it’s wrong and, you... you’re all right? Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Come on, James, everything’s all right, I’m fine, please, let me take care of you.” 

Jim allowed himself to be led back to bed. He was obviously disoriented; but before he went back to sleep, he kissed Oswald’s cheek. “I love you.”

Now it was Oswald’s turn to lie awake, worrying. Jim needed help, and Oswald didn’t know what to do.  
_________________________________________________

Jim took a good look at the lurid photos in the Gotham Gazette. The story had been front-page news for two days. 

Harvey Dent had been found just after dawn the previous morning, stark naked, and tied with golden ropes to the larger than life sized statue of blind justice that adorned the front of Gotham City Hall. He’d been drugged and kidnapped, and remembered nothing of his ordeal except waking up for a few moments, in the trunk of his own car. Someone had carefully bleached his black hair, to a warm shade of honey blonde. The kidnapper had spray painted his hands and feet gold, and attached a large pair of glittery, golden, feathery angel wings- via a gold leather harness-to his shoulders. As a finishing touch, the unknown assailant had super-glued a gold foil mask to his face; and to that was glued a mask of human flesh-the face belonging to the late Tony Baldinitti, the young gangster who had recently vanished from the sidewalk in front of Fish Mooney’s club. 

Jim and Harvey Bullock had gotten together for lunch at an Indian buffet not far from Arkham Asylum. Harvey was the master at finding such places. He’d proudly announced that it wasn’t the best Indian food in Gotham, but it sure was the cheapest. Jim believed him on both counts.

“You shoulda been there,” said Harvey. He made a series of enthusiastic, disgusting noises with his straw, as he sucked down the last of a Mango Lassi. 

“Or not,” Jim replied. “It’s the kinda thing that doesn’t make me miss being a detective. Nasty, high profile cases with no leads that the GCPD gets blamed for not solving. Still nothing to go on?”

“Nope. The FBI says they don’t have any similar murders in other states. Eddie’s pullin’ out all the stops, but nothin’ yet. He’s lovin’ it, though, to him it’s one big riddle. Here’s something he pointed out yesterday. You remember in the cemetery, the area where the other faces were found, it was a family plot belongin’ to a family that had died out around here? The family’s name was Goldman.”

“I can see why Eddie likes this. Dent was not only the angel in this instance, he was the ‘gold man.’ An assistant ADA, blind justice, angels, and gold. What’s the message? Something to do with corruption- a connection between money, justice, religion?” Jim rubbed his eyes, as if he was getting a headache.

“Dent didn’t much look like an angel. Looked more like he was gettin’ ready to swing around a pole for a two dollar tip. ” Harvey snickered. “If it weren’t for the dead guy’s face, he’da been a funny sight....................”

Jim flinched.

“Aw shit, man, I’m sorry I wasn’t thinkin’. My big mouth went runnin ahead of my brain. There’s nothing funny about...kidnapping.”

Jim had told Harvey about what had happened to Oswald the night Dent was kidnapped-minus the part about Zsasz. 

“S’ok. We’re moving this weekend. We’re each renting an apartment in the same building, and we’re moving Oswald’s mom into the one that’s officially his. The building’s owned by out of town investors. Meaning, organized crime with no ties to Gotham. No better looking than the building I’m in, but first class security. Comes highly recommended. I’m not getting caught with my pants down again.” Jim looked away. He looked awful, like he hadn’t slept in days. 

“Jim, it wasn’t your fault.” Harvey reached out and put his hand on Jim’s shoulder.

Jim turned and looked at Harvey- and Harvey pulled away. There was something in Jim’s eyes that Harvey had never seen before. Something cold and flat. 

“I’ll be God-damned if anyone else that I love dies, because I’m not good enough to protect them. ”Jim stood up and walked away without saying another word. 

After a while, Harvey closed his mouth. He was worried about his former partner. “Jesus, Jim.” He muttered. “What the fuck.” ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ When Jim got back to his apt. after work, he heard the shower running. He locked the door, then walked towards the bathroom. 

He was sweating; his heart was pounding. His ability to hear gradually faded away, until nothing was left; his peripheral vision shrank; he put his hand on the bathroom door. He knew what he was going to find: an empty shower stall, with the water still running; the bathroom full of steam; and no one there. No one at all.

He pushed the door open. “Hey!” Oswald opened the glass door and peered out. “Come on in, I’ll scrub your back.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and smiled at Jim. 

Jim peeled off his uniform and got into the shower as quickly as he could. Oswald turned and hugged him; then got a look at Jim’s face. “What’s the matter? You’re cold as ice, come here.” 

Jim grabbed Oswald and nearly squeezed the breath out of him. “I got afraid-you weren’t going to be here. That they came for you again, and the shower was going to be empty.........”

Oswald kissed him. “I’m Ok. But I’m worried about you. You’re not sleeping, you wake up screaming, you’re not eating, I can feel your ribs.” He ran his hands over Jim’s sides. “I wish you’d think about seeing someone....”

Jim grabbed Oswald roughly, and pushed him away. “I told you I’m FINE, can’t you just leave it alone?!?” There was the tiniest flicker of fear in Oswald’s eyes. Jim had never screamed at him, the whole time they’d been together. 

Jim’s face crumpled, as he slumped against the wall. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean...” His lover’s arms were around him again, in an instant. 

He whispered every comforting thing he could think of as he washed Jim under the hot water. “I understand, you didn’t mean it, we’re going to get through this...........”

Later, Jim picked at his dinner, aware that Oswald was watching him. “Listen, I’m really sorry, about yelling at you. I feel terrible. You don’t deserve that.”

“Well, let’s see. You’ve yelled at me a grand total of once since we’ve been involved. So I think I’ll forgive you.” Oswald walked up behind Jim, leaned over and hugged him. He knew that touch meant more to Jim than words; so he touched him at every opportunity, especially now. 

They turned in early that night; Jim told Oswald he wanted to talk with him. “First off, I owe you an apology. You get kidnapped, and you’re spending all your time comforting me. It should be the other way around.”

“Except I don’t have flashbacks from being in combat.”

Jim settled back on the pillows. “I can’t tell you everything, but I owe it to you to tell you about the nightmares. I was taken prisoner, along with three other men. We had no reason to hope for rescue. The second morning, they took Donnie outside and tortured him.  
He’d been my roommate in college. I could hear him screaming; I prayed for him to die, but God wasn’t listening. Sometime after it got dark, the screaming finally stopped. The next morning, they came in and threw Donnie’s body in a corner. They were taking me outside when a miracle occurred- we got rescued. 

Jim’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “ The part I dream about is hearing Donnie screaming, and how I couldn’t help him. Like the other night. You could have been killed, and I was helpless-didn’t even know what was happening.”

“My ...choice of career was in place long before you came to Gotham. I live my life on borrowed time, you know that. None of what happened to me was your fault.”

“Of course it was!!” Jim exploded. “I didn’t plan ahead. I didn’t think about security. Zsasz was right about everything. Seeing you once a week-anything could happen to you and it might be days before I’d know it. I’m the one who was in the military, for God’s sake, I’m a detective, I should have known better! If some psycho hit man hadn’t been your guardian angel, you’d be dead right now! That was my job, not his! 

Oswald held Jim’s hand, waiting for him to calm down. “But I’m fine, and we’re moving.” He paused. “When was the last time you had the nightmares, before this week?”

Jim was quiet for a few minutes. “After I pretended to kill you, and pushed you off the dock. Just until I knew you were alive again. That’s one reason I yelled at you when you showed up at Barbara’s; I was falling apart. I’m so grateful I have you; that you’re there to hold me when I wake up from one of those nightmares. Going through that alone was awful.” He hesitated. “Don’t ever mention this to Barbara, she doesn’t know anything about it. We slept in separate rooms, and she took sleeping pills so she never heard.... anything. ”

“James...please...talk to me about seeing someone for help. Please don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry at you, but I’m not going back to the VA. I’m not going in-patient again, I’m not taking any more meds, and I’ve talked to enough shrinks. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

“What about your co-worker? Could you talk to her?”

“Dr. Thompkins? The woman you nearly had a breakdown over? No way. I’m not going to risk planting the smallest seed of doubt in your mind that I’m interested in her. You mean too much to me. Forget it. Changing the subject, we gotta talk about your mother. As in how we’re gonna explain to her that she’s going to be living in your new apartment while you’re living in mine.”

“I told mom about the security issues, and that you and I are going to be, unofficially, living together. I may as well have told her that you’d lured her innocent baby into a career where I’d be making porn videos with barnyard animals.” 

“So, she was furious?”

“Nah. Not nearly that happy.” For the first time in days, they laughed. “I figured we could go talk to her together tomorrow afternoon after work.”

‘Yeah, fine. We’ll all have a few laughs and your mom can fantasize about me getting hit by a bus. Or trampled by barnyard animals.“

Oswald was grateful that Jim slept peacefully through the night.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Dr. Thompkins’ private practice was small, and she saw patients only on Fridays. Oswald sat in her waiting room, nervously tapping his foot. The chairs were uncomfortable, the place smelled like antiseptic, and he felt completely out of his element. When the receptionist, a matronly redhead, called his name, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He limped down a short hallway, and entered a warm, cozy room with a sofa, a couple of overstuffed chairs, and several bookcases overflowing with books. There was a generously sized picture window that looked out over a small park. Dr. Thompkins stood up and greeted him warmly, holding out her hand. 

“I remember you! We shared an elevator together once. What brings you here today? She looked at her appointment book. “ May I call you Oswald?”

“Yes. Before I discuss anything with you, we must understand each other concerning the issue of confidentiality. In addition, nothing I say can be taped or recorded, and I would appreciate it if you keep minimal notes.”

“I guarantee that anything you say to me will be kept absolutely confidential.”

Oswald took a deep breath. “I’m actually not here on my own behalf. I have a loved one who’s in need of assistance. He’s suffering from PTSD, from his time in the army, and there are reasons he doesn’t want to go to the VA; he needs to see someone, and I think he trusts you already. But he won’t come and see you, because he’s afraid of upsetting me; he says he’s fine and he won’t go see anyone. I’m worried about him.” He’d let more emotion creep into his voice than he’d meant to. 

“This other person-why would it upset you for him to see me?”

“Because that night on the elevator, he wasn’t expecting me, and I saw you go into James’ apartment.” This wasn’t going well. Oswald felt like he was going to cry again. “Before me, all his other relationships were with women, and I’m insecure about that. I was upset, and he thinks if he came to see you, it would create doubt between us; he can’t stand the thought of hurting me, but the important thing to me is for him to get the help he needs. He couldn’t tell you he had a boyfriend, because I work for the Maroni family. We keep our relationship private.”

This explained a lot. “We’re talking about Jim Gordon? And you plan to tell him you came to see me?” Oswald nodded. “Please feel free to tell him that I’d be happy to see him professionally. You obviously already know that I made a pass at Jim, and that he turned me down. I wouldn’t have done that in the first place, had I known he had a boyfriend. You say he was never involved with a man, previous to you?”

“That’s correct. I’m the first man he was ever attracted to.”

That’s what they all say, she thought. There’s one thing Jim’s most likely in denial about. “I understand why you were upset, when you saw me there. Now, what about you?” 

“Me?”

“Perhaps you need someone to talk to,” she said gently. “I know that you have Jim, and I’m sure you have friends. But a therapist can be objective, help you to discover insights that you might not on your own.”

“No, no, I’m fine. James started having flashbacks because I got kidnapped. It was work related; no big deal, and I didn’t get killed so it’s all right. I’m not even upset about it.”

“So you got kidnapped; and almost got killed, but you’re OK with that. Whereas the idea of Jim seeing someone else, that was more upsetting than being kidnapped?”

“ James is my whole world. The thought of losing him is worse than anything.”

“Yet you came here, to my office, and put your own feelings aside, because you love him so much. This had to have been difficult for you. Jim’s a lucky man, because someone loves him as much as you do.”

“I’m not sure that I’m good for him. But I’m trying.” Oswald stood up.

“Tell Jim to call me, if he wants to.” She gave Oswald a business card, and held out her hand again. “I’m glad you came. I hope I can help. Please, do let me know if you ever need someone to talk to. ”

Thank you, doctor.” Oswald smiled, almost shyly, and hurried away. 

Leslie shut the door behind him. Jim’s life was a whole lot more complicated than she’d suspected. As a psychiatrist, she didn’t usually provide therapy-she made diagnoses, then sent patients on to clinical psychologists. But she’d make an exception for Jim, or Oswald. She couldn’t explain why, but she liked both of them. She’d always had a weakness for star crossed lovers. She knew they were facing almost impossible odds, and if there was anything she could do to help-she intended to do it. 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Jim stood outside the door to Mrs. Kapelput’s apartment. He was as ready for this as he was ever going to be. He rang the bell.

When Gertrude answered the door, she looked at Jim, and raised her eyebrows. “So it’s you. I thought so.” He followed her into the living room, which looked like what he imagined the interior of a Gypsy’s wagon must look like. There were boxes everywhere; she was obviously on board with the move. “Sit. My son is not here yet.” 

Shit, Jim thought. The plan had been for them to arrive together. Where the hell was Oswald? Jim settled on a burgundy velvet sofa. When he looked at Gertrude, he didn’t see the halo of frizzled blonde hair, or the “vintage hell” mauve chiffon tea gown. He was transfixed by her eyes; the same beautiful gray-blue as her son’s. She looked grim.

“ Nothing but the truth will I tell you.” She spoke softly but there was fierceness behind her words. “ My son is all I have ever had, though I was not the best of mothers. I squandered my youth with a man who neglected to tell me he was already married, who abandoned me when I became with child. I gave my baby up for adoption, my Oswald, so he could have a better life. But he was small and sickly; no one wanted him, and I did not know this until he was ten. He came back to me, but I was ill and he had to make his way in the world.” 

She held Jim’s gaze. “You think I am old, and crazy, and stupid. But my medication is good now, and stupid-I have never been. Do you think I do not know what my son does? We play a game, he and I, for his benefit. It is easier for him. His employer, Mr. Maroni, came to visit me once, to inquire about my “health”. Does anyone in Gotham not know what Mr. Maroni does? And here you are -a police man. How can my son be with a police man?”

All right, then. No bullshit. “I’ve thought about leaving Gotham, and taking Oswald with me. He’s the one who can’t leave. The people he works for would find him, eventually, no matter where we went, and kill him. So the plan is, we stay here and fight. Together. I want to clean up the city government. He wants to consolidate the families. If we’re successful, there may be a way out for us.” 

“But you are a man.” She said it as if she was accusing Jim of being a devil. “You will not marry my son. There will be no children, no family. Nothing to hold you to him. When he is no longer young and beautiful, you will leave him and break his heart.”

“I can’t control what you believe. I love your son with all my heart, and with all my soul, and with everything I am. Maybe that’s not enough, but it’s all I’ve got.” 

Gertrude glared at him. “I, too, once believed pretty words that sounded oh so sweet to my ears. Words that proved worthless. But, we will not upset Oswald. What’s done is done. I will move where he asks, and I will be polite to you, for his sake.”

“Fair enough. One more thing, for now-do you have a gun, Gertrude? And do you know how to use it?”

She looked puzzled. “Yes to both.”

“I’ll need to see it, to make sure it’s in good working condition. Three nights ago, someone tried to kill Oswald. That’s why we’re all moving to a secure building. I need to know-if you’re ever called upon to fight for Oswald’s life, can you do it? I’d give my own life to protect him. Would you?”

Her eyes blazed. “Of course. How dare you even ask.”

The door opened; Oswald went to kiss his mother’s cheek. “I’m sorry I’m late, I had an appointment...are you two.... having a discussion?”

Gertrude smiled at him. “We are all done. Mr. Gordon has explained about the move. I will make tea now.” She went into the kitchen. Oswald gave Jim a puzzled look; Jim put a finger to his lips. 

When she returned with a tray, she pretended not to notice how close together they were sitting.  
______________________________________________________________________

“I can’t believe you did that.” Jim lay on his back in bed, with his hands over his face. Oswald had just confessed to Jim that he’d visited Dr. Thompkins. “I have to work with that woman.”

“Are you going to yell at me again?”

“It’s hard to yell at you when you’re licking my stomach and making purring sounds. Which reminds me, there’s a website I wanted to show you, in case you’re in the mood to, ah, experiment. ” Jim set his laptop on the bed. 

“James Gordon, you are a wicked man and this is terribly indecent! Wait, click on that one-hmmm, we haven’t tried that yet. If this leg goes here, and that leg goes there...that looks doable. Play the little how-to video.”

Before long, the lovers were so absorbed in each other that the laptop got kicked off the bed and onto the floor. The next-door neighbors were only slightly annoyed by the headboard banging against the wall, although the moaning and yelling was unusually loud. 

Across town, The Man was glad he’d tuned in to see what Oswald and Jim were doing. He’d have to make sure to send Jim some more anonymous emails with suggestions for interesting websites.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing about Jim’s combat experiences is complicated by not knowing which war he was supposed to have been in. In doing research, I interviewed a number of veterans (who served in various wars) who were kind enough to share their experiences with me. Due to the nature of confidentiality, I have not directly nor indirectly referenced the experiences of any real person. Instead, what you read here is purely fictional, the product of my own imagination.


	15. Behind Locked Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Harvey Dent's character is revealed. Jim and Oswald enjoy some stress relief at Oswald's new nightclub. Harvey Bullock indulges in naughtiness. Victor Zsasz chats with Don Falcone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Cookie Secrets" is a reference to "Bob's Burgers"; Gene Belcher decides this would be a marvelous stage name for his "act" when he grows up.  
> The film Noir "Behind Locked Doors" (1948) is set in an insane asylum, and features actor Tor Johnson-the Swedish professional wrestler who was a good friend of Ed Wood's, and who appeared in "Plan 9 From Outer Space", which is generally agreed to be the worst movie ever made.  
> The music I imagine playing in the club-Sofia Karlberg's cover of "Crazy in Love"; I don't know if an extended version exists, but there should be one, and that's what I had in mind.  
> This takes place after episode 13.

Harvey Dent looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, as he toweled off after a hot shower. The blond hair would be with him for a while; they’d told him at the salon that the unknown assailant who’d bleached it had used very harsh chemicals, and they wanted him to apply a variety of conditioning treatments for a few weeks before they tried restoring his natural dark color. The contrast with his deep brown eyes and dark lashes was actually rather striking-if he did say so himself. Modesty was not one of Harvey’s faults. 

His recent kidnapping had been unnerving, but perhaps it would serve the greater good. It showcased just how incompetent the GCPD was, since they’d failed to make any progress on the case. Yes, the GCPD was sadly in need of an overhaul-just the project for an enterprising person. Someone like, Jim Gordon perhaps-who could do the dirty work, so that someone smarter-like Harvey- could step up and, ultimately, take credit for it. 

He finished brushing and flossing his flawless, gleaming white teeth. ‘Ah,’ he thought. ‘One of the finest miracles money can buy.’ In Harvey’s world, of course, any miracle that couldn’t be bought with money wasn’t worth thinking about. He slid into a pair of jeans and a tee shirt-deliberately casual, and appraised his toned, six-foot frame. ‘Perfect, as always.’ He splashed on some cologne-something subtle- and decided to go barefoot.

His condo rivaled Barbara Kean’s in terms of luxury and opulence. The views of Gotham’s skyline were breathtaking at night, and just now the sun was setting. He fixed himself a drink; his guest, Tyler, would be there any minute. Tyler was one of the “street kids” that Harvey had provided with a second chance when they were about to be tried as adults. This was one of the many things that contributed to Harvey’s sterling reputation in Gotham- a jewel in the crown, actually. Gotham was home to dozens of productive citizens who owed their middle class lifestyles to the fact that Harvey Dent had given them a second chance when he flipped that famous coin. 

Tyler had celebrated his eighteenth birthday just two days earlier, and Harvey had taken him- and his family- to one of Gotham’s finest restaurants to celebrate, sparing no expense. He’d gone the extra mile for Tyler-arranging for college scholarships, and even an internship in the DA’s office. He truly had done a lot for Tyler; no more so than for many other youths; but still, Tyler was special. He was highly intelligent; he played a mean game of chess; and he had a face like an angel from some obscure Renaissance painting. He was coming over to discuss his upcoming internship-at least that was what they’d talked about. 

The doorbell rang. He opened it and ushered Tyler in. 

“How’s it going? Would you like a drink, or a beer?” Harvey flashed his most charming smile.

“Sure, Mr. Dent. Whatever you’re having. This place is-like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“Call me Harvey-after all, you’re an adult now.” Harvey stepped over to the bar, still smiling. It never failed-someone who’d grown up poor was always wowed by the trappings of wealth, however humdrum it all seemed to Harvey’s peers. “This place is all right, I guess.” Harvey shrugged. “It gets lonely sometimes, with just me here. I’ve been thinking about getting a dog, or a cat maybe.” 

“You? Lonely? I figured you’d have a gazillion friends, Mr..... Harvey, I mean. And lots of girlfriends.” Tyler took his drink and sat on a black leather sofa. 

“I have plenty of acquaintances, but at the end of the day-it’s just me. My work keeps me busy. Honestly, I’m not all that good with people, one on one; very few ever get to know the real me.” 

“I know exactly what you mean.” Tyler looked sympathetic. 

Of course you do, Harvey thought, you’re a teenager, and you lack the experience to understand how easily I’m playing you. Harvey gave Tyler an approving glance. Tyler was compact and muscular, shorter than Harvey by a good six inches-which was perfect, as far as Harvey was concerned. He liked them small. He picked up some packets of papers, and handed them to Tyler before sitting down. 

“These are some forms you need to fill out, concerning the internship. You can look them over now, or later. There’s an essay you have to write, but it’s merely a formality. I’ve already seen to it that you’ll get the position. The DA owed me some favors.” Harvey sipped his drink and took another long look at his guest. He wanted to reach out and grab a handful of Tyler’s thick, chestnut curls-and yank, hard enough to hurt. But no, not yet-not quite. He wanted Tyler to get a couple more drinks in him. 

They discussed the forms; Tyler’s college plans; and a list of the “finer things in life” that Harvey wanted to expose Tyler to. An hour passed. 

“You’ve done so much for me, already, Harvey. I wish there was something I could do for you in return.” Tyler looked at him earnestly.

Harvey wondered if Tyler liked boys or girls. Abruptly, he leaned over and kissed Tyler, almost chastely, on the lips; then pulled away waiting for a reaction. He enjoyed the momentary shock in Tyler’s blue-violet eyes. The youth seemed frozen, unable to move or even blink; then he threw his arms around Harvey’s neck and kissed him back- awkwardly, completely without finesse, but with unrestrained passion. 

That answered Harvey’s question-Tyler liked boys. It would have been fine either way; Harvey would have maneuvered Tyler into bed regardless, and found a way to fuck with his mind. This way had its benefits. He would make Tyler fall in love with him, then break his heart-and make Tyler blame himself for every awful thing that happened. It was going to be fun.  
_____________________________________

Jim parked across the street from what, until very recently, had been Fish’s nightclub. He was picking up Oswald after a long, grueling day for both of them. When he was a few feet from the front door, he recoiled in horror as Victor Zsasz and two women came boiling out, dragging a bound, gagged, and bleeding Butch Gilzean. 

The two women swiveled their heads in Jim’s direction; a whispered word from Zsasz, and they ignored Jim completely. Jim watched as Butch was stuffed in the trunk of a car. He caught a glimpse of another woman in the back seat, who appeared to be unconscious. Zsasz gave Jim an odd smile, and waved as the trio drove away. 

Now what? Butch and Fish were already supposed to be Falcone’s captives. Jim was a nervous wreck; he dropped the key twice, trying to unlock the door. When he finally got inside, he called out for Oswald, who he found sitting in the floor in front of the stage. 

“Greetings, my love! You just missed my guardian devil with two of his lesser demons.” Oswald was giggling; as if everything was so hilarious he could hardly stand it. 

Jim pulled him to his feet. Oswald had obviously had a lot more champagne after Jim had seen him that afternoon, and was even more unsteady then usual. His hair was damp, and his eyes glittered with a manic look that gave Jim chills. 

“What the hell happened here?”

Oswald waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Oh you know, the usual. Fish escaped Falcone, came here to kill me, and Victor stormed in just in time to save me. She got away through a window, but he nailed Butch in the knee. You know, I’m growing to like Victor, but honestly- all those trained assassins and they can’t catch one little Fish.” Oswald doubled over with laughter.

Jim failed to see humor in any of it. “What?!? She came after you AGAIN?!? Jesus fucking Christ, is the bitch immortal, am I gonna have to kill her myself?”

“I don’t know, snuggie bear, are you?” Oswald continued giggling, clutching at Jim’s shirt. “Ooh, there seems to be a great big handsome man inside this shirt. Do you suppose he might want a smoochie?” 

Smoochie was the last thing on Jim’s mind. But he realized Oswald had had too much to drink, and was possibly close to hysterical, so he pulled him over to a garish velvet sofa where they could sit for a moment and Jim could try to think. He leaned in for a kiss, and found himself being devoured by a face-sucking octopus. Oswald had become all slithering arms and legs and an extraordinarily hungry mouth. 

“Whoa,” Jim murmured, “Slow down. Let me check the doors and windows, you said Fish got away-no telling how many keys there are to this place. Your first task’ll be to get the locks changed.” 

Oswald fake-pouted. “Oh all right, but make it fast-you gorgeous creature.” He giggled again. 

Jim went to check the front door, and missed the slight noise coming from a nearby hallway. Harvey Bullock carefully slipped into a darkened room, waiting for Jim to make the rounds. He’d come in through the back just a few moments earlier, intent on retrieving some passports and money Fish had called him about. He was supposed to meet her at a friend’s apartment in three hours-the friend being a dancer named “Cookie Secrets”-and take her to meet a boat at the docks. He figured he’d hide until Jim and Oswald left, then let himself out. He hated being dishonest with Jim, but with things the way they were between Oswald and Fish-what were his choices?

Jim didn’t much like the club. It was where Oswald’s leg had been broken, and where Don Falcone had squeezed the life out of poor, dumb Liza. How many murders, how many acts of violence and despair had taken place there? 

When Jim returned, Oswald had turned on some kind of lighting effect. A pattern of stars swirled and looped around the darkened room. Jim had to admit, there was something magical about the way the lights sparked off the chandeliers, the gold leaf and the beveled mirrors. He’d always thought of Fish’s club as tawdry, but now it reminded him of a movie palace from the 1920s. There was music- playing so softly as to be ghostly, so whispery that it was not much more than a suggestion of sound. 

He walked over and sat on the sofa, where Oswald was reclining, his head propped up on one arm. “Oh, Jack!” his lover intoned. “Draw me like one of your French girls!” 

Jim groaned at the cliché, but laughed nonetheless. “How about we head for home?”

“Not yet, please.” Oswald begged. “ Let me savor this-it’s what I’ve always wanted.”

“A strip club?” 

“No! A nightclub, an old-fashioned one, like in the Fred Astaire movies-with music and dancing and cabaret acts. Someplace fun, where people come to forget their troubles!” Oswald’s face shone. “And best of all, someone I love, to share it with.” 

He pulled Jim down for another kiss, and this time Jim relaxed.

Harvey had come back into the hallway, and was standing where he could clearly see Jim and Oswald, while remaining hidden- so close he could hear them breathing. He told himself he was just keeping tabs on things, so he’d know when they left and it was safe to start rummaging around in Fish’s office. It made him uneasy when they started kissing. More so when Jim practically ripped Oswald’s coat and vest off. 

Harvey closed his eyes; thought about retreating.

He opened his eyes.

Glittering lights spiraled over the scene. Oswald’s shirt was unbuttoned; his head was thrown back, his eyes closed. Jim’s mouth was pressed to Oswald’s pale neck, lips moving in such a way as to look like a Vampire feeding on his prey. Jim’s slacks were unzipped, and Oswald had slid a hand inside. 

This was wrong. He shouldn’t be watching. Harvey started back down the hallway; turned around; came back.

He inhaled sharply, and held his breath.

Oswald’s pants were now bunched around his ankles; Jim was kneeling in front of the sofa, his face buried in his lover’s lap. Oswald was clutching at Jim’s head. They shifted, and Harvey could see exactly what Jim was doing to Oswald with his mouth and hands. Every so often, Jim raised his head and drew Oswald into another passionate kiss.

Jim stood; Oswald looked up at him adoringly, his face flushed. They shed their remaining clothes; Jim sat down and pulled Oswald onto his lap, facing him. They kissed messily, open-mouthed; their hands were all over each other, their bodies undulating. 

Harvey was thrilled-no, horrified. He stared at his feet. Shoes, yeah, shoes were safe to look at. 

His best friend, who was now buck naked, was almost certainly about to do something unspeakable with a weasel. The weasel was starting to look kinda attractive. Worst of all, Harvey was feeling an insistent stirring between his own legs. No. No, no, no. Absolutely not. Harvey was not going to spank his monkey while watching his partner plough some snitch. It was a disgusting thought, and Harvey was better than that. 

Harvey was better than that for a grand total of three minutes. Then he quietly unbuckled his belt and fumbled with his zipper. He figured he could add it to the list of things he’d be burning in hell for. He’d have to be supernaturally quiet-the last thing he needed was to get caught in the hallway with his dick in his hand. 

Harvey swallowed, and licked his lips. He was starting to see Oswald the way Jim saw him. Oswald was pretty, and exotic, and intense. Smoldering- that’s the word that described him. The man was a murderer, and he might have ice water in his veins where the rest of the world was concerned, but he had fire in his blood for James Gordon. 

Harvey’s eyes widened. Sweet Baby Jesus! Oswald rose to his knees; then settled back slowly in Jim’s lap. It didn’t seem possible that Oswald could manage all of what –to Harvey- looked like an impressive endowment, but he did- and began sliding up and down while Jim gripped his butt. Harvey watched, hypnotized. And mother of God, the noises pushed Harvey close to the edge-he could understand Jim’s obsession with Oswald if for no other reason than the noises the guy could make. The lovers moved together; lost in desire, oblivious to everything in the world except each other. 

About the time Harvey was becoming seriously impressed with their stamina (Jesus, were they going to go at it all night?) Jim groaned; Oswald cried out Jim’s name, once, twice; his cries echoed eerily through the darkened club. Shaking, they collapsed into each other’s arms; kissing and caressing each other, their faces glowing.

Harvey seemed to be watching them through a haze that brightened and flared as he was overtaken by his own climax. Damn. All right, then- that carpet needed cleaning anyway.

Harvey backed carefully down the hallway, and hid again. He was still worried about Jim’s choice of a mate, but at the same time-he found himself feeling sad. What he’d witnessed wasn’t simply two guys fucking; it was two people making love. He felt sad for himself and for Marie; sad for the wasted time and wasted years that he could never get back. Sad for the fact that there was no replacement for sharing a life with a loved one. Harvey suddenly felt old, way beyond his years. 

Jim reached for his jacket, and draped it over Oswald’s shoulders. “Are you OK?”

God, Jim was such a sweetheart. Oswald laid his head on Jim’s collarbone and sighed. “Well, you see, I’d had a wee bit too much champagne, when this luscious blonde man came into my club. He said he was a police officer, and he needed to strip search me; and me, being civic minded and all, I didn’t resist. And the next thing you know, he took terrible advantage of me. It was just awful! I don’t think I’ll ever be able to play the violin again.”

“And just what part of your anatomy did you play this violin with, or dare I ask?” Jim smiled. “Now how about we get dressed and go home where we can have a proper cuddle in our very own warm, comfy bed? Oh, and one more question.” He ran his hands through Oswald’s hair. “How did I ever get so lucky as to find you?”  
_______________________________

Victor knocked lightly on the door to Don Falcone’s study. As he entered, a young woman was leaving; a stunning redhead with cat-like, blue -green eyes and a sly smile.  
Liza’s replacement, Victor supposed, and he was glad for it. Liza had nearly destroyed everything Don Falcone had worked a lifetime to build. Victor had been mildly disappointed that he hadn’t gotten to kill her himself, but the loss was worth it. He’d so enjoyed watching the Don wring that lying bitch’s worthless neck, as easily as if she were one of his chickens.

“Good evening, Victor.” Carmine sat by the fireplace, beckoning for the young man to take a seat. “I hope you have good news for me.”

“Mixed news. We captured Butch, who’s wounded, but Fish got away. We did manage to save Cobblepot’s life.” He didn’t mention that one of his assassins had died in the process; no need to. Falcone didn’t concern himself with collateral damage. 

“I’d hoped for better, but this will do for now. Did Jim Gordon show up before you left?”

“Yes.” This was news. He didn’t know that Carmine knew about Jim and Oswald, but he wasn’t surprised.

“Good. Did you know that Jim’s late father and I were friends? He was a district attorney, well respected and influential. He was instrumental in my success; and in turn, I made him a wealthy man. Jim’s ashamed of that, I’m afraid, and that’s why he’s so determined to clean up Gotham. Pity. Jim has so much potential that may forever go unfulfilled.” Carmine shook the ice in his drink. “I’m rather proud of the plan I came up with to keep Jim in line.”

“What would that be, sir?”

“The first time I met Jim, I had his number. I know his type. Macho, self-righteous, repressed. When Oswald offered me the idea of assigning Jim to kill him, so he could survive and come back to be my mole at Maroni’s, I saw an opportunity. I didn’t need a snitch to infiltrate Maroni’s operation-I had several in place already. But Oswald’s request clued me in to something-he was head over heels for Jim Gordon. So I asked myself-what if their lives were to collide? What might be the result? I knew Oswald would do anything to draw Jim closer to him. I envisioned an alliance-one that Jim would convince himself was for the greater good-that might eventually tarnish Jim’s halo. A romance was so much more than I dared hope for-but just look at how well it’s all turned out. Jim’s one true love is in my employ. What more could I ask for?” Carmine smiled. 

“You’re a shrewd judge of character.”

“Speaking of which, be careful with Butch. I want to know everything he knows about Fish’s whereabouts. Take your time. He’s tough-but in the end, anyone will crack if you know how to turn the right key.”

“I’ll be careful. Thank you, sir.” Victor left quietly, shutting the door behind him. 

Victor was not entirely pleased with the exchange. He didn’t care for the way Don Falcone had spoken about Jim and Oswald. It wasn’t that he liked them-Victor didn’t actually like anyone; any more than he loved anyone-such feelings were a closed book to him. But he understood what it meant to possess something, and to feel possessive when something that belonged to him was encroached upon by another. He enjoyed watching Jim and Oswald’s bedroom adventures; it gave him pleasure. It made him angry to think of the possibility of anything, or anyone, interfering with that pleasure. 

He was going to enjoy taking that anger out on Butch.


	16. Beyond the Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim rescues Oswald from Maroni's cabin. Don Maroni gets a visit from a mysterious nun. Jim sees Leslie for counseling. Jim and Oswald celebrate Valentine's Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after episode 15. Mostly, it's a shameless excuse to post a late Valentine's Day fluff.  
> The last two lines are borrowed from another of my fics, a stand alone Valentine's Day fic that got rather dark.  
> And, there really is a Vampire brand wine. It's made in Romania, and the Merlot is a personal favorite. I'm no wine expert-I just know what I like.

Jim moved silently through the woods behind the cabin. It was what he’d been trained for. He knew how far he was from the back door, what kind of lock he’d have to get through, that there was no one standing guard outside. He was through the door in seconds, through the kitchen, coming up behind Sal Maroni just as the stocky man punched Oswald in the face and knocked him down. 

Seconds later, Jim hit Maroni across the back of the head with the butt of a pistol, and the big man hit the floor, out cold.

Oswald was groaning, half conscious. Jim lifted him onto a sofa-nothing was broken; he’d have a swollen face and another black eye, but he’d be all right. “Stay still.” Jim found rope and cable ties in the kitchen that Maroni had, no doubt, intended for Oswald. He bound the unconscious gangster, making sure to tie him so tightly that he’d be in pain. He stuffed a dishtowel in his mouth for good measure. Then he stood there looking at him. Coldly.

“James.” Oswald’s voice was weak. “Don’t kill him. Please. There’s no reason to get your hands dirty.” 

Oswald had read his mind. The pistol was unregistered, the serial number filed off; he’d brought it for a reason: to kill Don Maroni, if the situation called for it.

“”I’m Ok, let’s go. Please.”

Jim helped Oswald stand, then half carried him down the hill to the car. In minutes, they were on the road, headed back to Gotham. Oswald slumped back in the passenger seat and shut his eyes. He reached out and put a hand on Jim’s thigh. “Relax. You got here in time. Everything’s Ok now.”

“Thank God I got your text messages. It makes me crazy, thinking he could have taken you to a cabin in the middle of nowhere, and I’d have had no idea where you were.” Now that the immediate danger was over, Jim was allowing himself to feel furious. “You realize the bastard was gonna kill you?”

“Yes. But now that the whole truth is out, I’ll be under the protection of Don Falcone; and I won’t have to be around Maroni any more.”

“Good thing. I was about ready to kill that dirtbag just for the way he couldn’t keep his filthy hands off you. He was always grabbing at you, finding excuses to touch you. I halfway wondered if he was bringing you out here to try to get in your pants.”

Oswald grimaced. “Well, there went my appetite-for the next ten years. Eew. Honestly, though, James-you’re a tad paranoid about other men hitting on me. Just because you can’t look at me without mentally undressing me, doesn’t mean anyone else thinks like that.”

Jim smiled at Oswald’s teasing, and the tension lifted a little. “Yeah, well, I’m real sure I’m not the only one who’s noticed what a cute butt you have.”

Oswald rolled his eyes. “James Gordon, you are absolutely incorrigible. And I love you for it.”

 

As Jim and Oswald drove towards Gotham, Sal Maroni woke up. He didn’t know who hit him, but he figured it must have been Gabe. How the hell did Gabe get there? No matter. He struggled; the ropes held. Shit. He’d told some of his men where he was going, so he knew they’d come looking for him-eventually. Then he’d find that fuckin’ Penguin and cut his goddamned throat. His head was throbbing where he’d been hit. 

He heard the back door open and close. 

Footsteps. Slow, measured. Someone was walking around behind him; taking their time. He realized he was sweating profusely. Why didn’t they say something? A hand reached down from behind him, and yanked the rag out of his mouth. 

“Who are you?” He managed to keep any trace of fear out of his voice. 

The person walked around him; long dark skirts swishing; pulled up a rocking chair and sat down. 

It was a nun. And where her face should have been was a mask of black gauze that hid her features entirely. She began to rock, slowly, back and forth. The floor creaked in rhythm with the chair.

“What are you doing here? What do you want? Listen, I’m Don Maroni. I’m an important man. I can make it worth your while, if you’ll untie me.”

He could see the clock on the wall. An hour passed. The sun began to set. He could see through the picture window, the skeletal outlines of winter trees against the reddening sky. He ached all over, and the restraints bit into his flesh. Still the nun sat and rocked, saying nothing.

Except for the creaking of the floorboards, the cabin was silent. Sal Maroni would never admit it-but he was as frightened as he’d ever been in his life. 

The cabin was pitch black when the nun finally rose from the chair. Sal was lying in a pool of his own piss. She flipped on a light and leaned over, to show him something.

It was an antique straight razor.  
Though not a religious man, he’d been raised Catholic, so he took the opportunity to pray. 

She went into the bathroom, and he could hear her rummaging around. She walked up behind him; he could hear water sloshing. She sat something down. 

She them proceeded to cover his hair with shaving cream, and used the straight razor to shave his head bald. He held perfectly still. 

When she was finished, she cleaned up. She turned out all the lights, and left the way she came. He heard the back door close behind her.

Sal Maroni pissed himself for the second time that evening.  
________________________________________

 

Jim sat on the couch in Leslie’s office. He felt anxious, but not so much as the first few times he’d been to see her. After his previous experiences, he didn’t much like anything to do with psychiatrists. The ones at the VA had come up with a variety of diagnoses for him- PTSD, depression, dysphoria, generalized anxiety disorder. He’d experienced a psychotic break, they told him. He didn’t remember a lot of the time he’d spent in the psych ward. He did remember that when he received his honorable discharge, he’d cleaned out the medicine cabinet and thrown away every single medication they’d given him. No more drugs. It was over. He was going to put the past behind him.

Except, the flashbacks wouldn’t let him.

He didn’t mind talking to Leslie. She was warm and understanding, and never made him feel judged.

“Tell me about your relationships before Oswald.” 

‘Well...For high school, I went to a co-ed boarding school and dated the same girl for four years. Mary Annette Nolan. I felt lucky that she liked me-she was the prettiest girl there. We got along perfectly, never had a fight the whole time.”

“How was your sex life?”

“Fine. I mean, we had sex three or four times. But we were teenagers, and we were preached to constantly about waiting...until we were older. Annie told me she loved how I respected her, didn’t try to paw all over her like other guys did.”

“What about college?”

“That was only one year. I dated a girl named Sophia Townsend, she was a physics major, really brainy. I saw her a few times after I joined the army. Then she found a guy and got married. No hard feelings.” Jim paused. “I don’t think I was in love with either Annie or Sophie. But the companionship was nice. I know you’re going to ask about sex again, you shrinks are all alike, sex on the brain.”

Leslie laughed.

“To be honest, I was always a little indifferent about sex. At least until I got involved with Oswald, because I’m all over him, every chance I get. I never told anyone this before. When guys would talk about sex, I went along with the crowd, talked a good talk. I figured I kinda had a low battery, or something. I mean everybody’s different, right? The girls I dated would always tell me what a gentleman I was, because I didn’t pester them for sex all the time. Now I guess you’re gonna tell me the problem was that I was actually attracted to men and was in denial about it. ”

“I didn’t say that. You did.”

“I’ve been thinking. Maybe it’s true, and that’s why sex with women was never very exciting. Or maybe I’m Bi, and the energy it took to repress that made me repress...everything. I think maybe...........” Jim rubbed his hands over his face.

“What?”  
“I think maybe I was in love with Donnie. But we never...I never touched him. We never even held hands. I tried not to think.............” Jim looked troubled. “That’s the answer, isn’t it? I had to try not to think about Donnie...that way. It’s the fact that I had to try. I was such a fucking idiot. And maybe that’s part of why I threw myself into a relationship with Oswald, without holding anything back. I wasn’t going to hesitate-make the same mistake twice.”

“That’s very insightful. I do think that’s enough for today, Jim. How are you feeling, right now?” 

“Like I want to rush home and see Oswald. I’m feeling grateful that he’s there, for me to go home to.”

The security at their “new” building was comforting. For one thing, there were security guards twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, in the parking level and the lobby. They weren’t fat, elderly, retired cops, either. They were grim-looking, fit young men who were indistinguishable from the muscle that worked for Falcone and Maroni. They carried guns. They never smiled. Jim was well satisfied.

When he entered the apartment, everything was quiet-he wondered if Oswald was even there. Taking off his jacket, he strolled into the bedroom. 

Oswald was lying on the bed, completely naked, stroking himself while gazing in the ginormous mirror Jim had installed on the bedroom ceiling. 

Jim laughed out loud. “What are you doing, you perv?”

“I’m not the perv who put that mirror up there, what did you expect? I just had a shower, I’ve been waiting for my one true love to arrive home, and I should think the rest is perfectly obvious. “

Jim shed the rest of his clothes, and stretched out on the bed. Oswald smiled, and wound his arms and legs around him, then lifted his mouth to Jim’s. Nothing made Jim forget his problems more than getting lost in the delectable warmth of kissing his inamorato.

“How about I give you something more to look at in that mirror?” Jim slid down and pressed a kiss to Oswald’s hip, before applying his mouth to a more sensitive part of his lover’s anatomy. The part that Oswald had been stroking was twitching and leaking in short order, so Jim allowed his lips to wander to an area that was being neglected. As he felt Jim’s tongue licking into him, Oswald was torn between closing his eyes- or utilizing the mirror to watch. 

After a while, Jim interrupted his ministrations to stretch out alongside Oswald again, and whisper in his ear. Oswald wrapped his legs around Jim’s back, as Jim eased into him and rocked forward. 

From Oswald’s vantage point, the view was spectacular.  
________________________

Valentine’s Day, they both had to work. Jim got home first; he knew they’d both be tired, but he wanted to make the rest of the evening as special as possible. After all, it was their first Valentine’s together. 

When he entered the lobby, he stopped to brush the snow off his coat. He was carrying a bouquet of a dozen black roses and a black velvet heart shaped box. The attendant at the front desk waved at him. “Mr. Smith? There’s a delivery here for your apartment.” Soon Jim was juggling an orchid in a pot, and a wrapped package, along with everything else. 

Once inside, he arranged everything on the bedroom dresser. He’d just opened a bottle of red wine (A Merlot named “Vampire”) when Oswald opened the door-and entered, smiling from ear to ear; carrying a dozen red American Beauty roses, and a red foil heart shaped box with a huge satin bow. Jim hugged him and laughed. “I’ll get out another vase! The bedroom is starting to look like a florist’s shop.”

As they lounged on the bed, opening gifts, Oswald cuddled up to Jim and put his head on his shoulder. “I hope you like what I got you.” 

Jim tore away the gift-wrap and opened the box. It was filled with comic books. “This is great!” His face beamed. “How did you know which ones I needed?”

“I spent some time with the people at ‘Gotham Comics and Collectables.’ They have a record of everything you ever purchased there, and they’ll exchange any duplicates if I screwed up.” 

“Thank you!” He kissed the top of Oswald’s head, and handed him a gift bag. 

Oswald pulled out a black hoodie. “Oh, look!” He giggled. “The lining is like pages from a Spiderman comic. Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” It was a private joke.

“And there’s one more thing from me.” 

Oswald opened a rather large box wrapped in brown paper, and looked inside. “You know, it’s a wonderful piece of good fortune on my part, to have gotten involved with a man who thinks the perfect gift for any occasion is a box of sex toys.”

Jim looked at him with mock innocence. “You mean, everyone doesn’t think like that?”

“Hmmm, it looks like an online bondage shop had a going out of business sale. There’s quite an assortment of ...things for wrists and ankles....this looks like it would go around someone’s waist. All this stuff connects, I take it?” He raised an eyebrow; he already knew how much Jim, on occasion, liked to be restrained. “Here, let me put this on you.” It was a collar. 

Oswald sat back and examined the results. “Damn, Jim, you look absolutely astonishing in that. Wait-you’re blushing! Oh, this is just the best. Lie back and look in the mirror.”

“Did I remember to mention, I have some more mirrors to put up around the bedroom?”

“No, but it doesn’t surprise me! Oh, I almost forgot. I have a card for you.” He handed Jim an envelope. 

It was a colored pencil drawing, of the two of them together. Jim got quiet.

“You do like it?” Oswald asked anxiously. “I did it from a photo one of our nieces took last December.”

He pulled Oswald close and kissed his cheek. “It’s perfect. And do you realize, you just said ‘our’ nieces? That’s exactly what I like to hear.” He pulled another envelope out of the box the hoodie had been in. “You missed your card! I hope you don’t think it’s too sentimental.” 

Oswald opened it. “It’s Spiderman and Deadpool! And they’re....James Gordon, if there’s a man on this planet with a dirtier mind than yours, I don’t know who it is.”

“And you love me for it, right? Say, where did you get the orchid?”

Silence.

“I thought it was from you. There’s a florist’s card on it.” Oswald opened it and turned even paler than usual. “It’s from Victor.”

“You’re kidding!” Jim opened the box that came with it. “This is some kind of external hard drive. You don’t think...............”

“I don’t want to know,” Oswald retorted. Let’s look at it another time. Right now, how about we get out of these clothes and go soak in a hot bath?”

Jim leaned over and stuck his tongue in Oswald’s ear, causing Oswald to swat him away, playfully. “I’ll go get the wine glasses.”

Outside, the snow swirled and danced, settling it’s icy embrace over Gotham. Just for a moment, everything was peaceful.


	17. Angel Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim pays a visit to Harvey Dent. Jim asks Oswald to assist with the "Angel of Death" case. Barbara has a plan for claiming her inheritance, and appeals to Oswald for support. Selina looks for the mysterious stranger she calls "The Aerialist".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Bamonte's" is Sal Maroni's restaurant, where Oswald used to work. The term is a nickname for a large or strong man. 
> 
> “On ne jette des pierres qu'a l'arbre chargé de fruits.” Translation: " People only throw stones at trees with fruit on them." Meaning, having no enemies is a sign that fortune has forgotten you. This is Oswald's response to Barbara when she comments on the fact that Fish Mooney is still at large and has promised to kill Oswald.
> 
> Chronology: This chapter takes place after episode 17.
> 
> Angel Face is a 1953 black-and-white film noir directed by Otto Preminger. It is considered to be one of the forgotten masterworks of film noir. The story is about a beautiful, sophisticated young woman who-like Harvey Dent- has a hidden dark side that eventually surfaces.

Jim rang the doorbell to Harvey Dent’s condo. He would much rather have been on his way home, but he needed to pick up some case files. Since the police hadn’t been able to catch a break in the “Angel of Death” case, Harvey had hired some private detectives. Expensive ones. There was always the possibility that the perp would come after Dent a second time.

The gumshoes had fared no better than the cops, even though ADA Dent had pulled strings and allowed them access to all the info the police had compiled. 

The less time Jim had to spend around Harvey, the better. He hadn’t forgiven Harvey for nearly getting Bruce and Selina killed, and for throwing Jim under the bus when the Mayor took away Jim’s badge. He saw Harvey as a sort of necessary evil-a self-serving narcissist who happened to be useful on occasion, in spite of himself. That usefulness didn’t mean Jim wanted to spend more time with him than he had to.

Harvey answered the door with a drink in his hand. “Jim! Good to see you, what can I get for you?”

“Nothing, thanks. Those case files you borrowed- are they ready for me to take?”

Harvey gestured towards a briefcase. “What’s your hurry? You can’t stay for one drink?” He smiled his most charming smile.

“Ok, one drink. Bourbon on the rocks.” Jim sat down. “Nice place you have here.”

While Harvey was standing at the bar, the front door opened. A young man came bursting in, threw down a backpack and proceeded to kiss Harvey on the mouth. Harvey returned the kiss, and seemed in no hurry to disentangle himself from the youth’s warm embrace.

Jim grew increasingly uncomfortable. Harvey’s companion looked like he might be all of sixteen.

“Tyler,” Harvey finally said, “I’d like for you to meet a friend of mine; Detective James Gordon. You can call him Jim.”

Tyler turned red, and nervously rubbed his hair out of his face. “I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to be rude, I didn’t see you there.”

“No problem. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Tyler was one of the most beautiful individuals Jim had ever seen. There was something off about him, though, despite his smile; he looked at Jim as if he was afraid of him. Why would Tyler be afraid of the police?

“Tyler, why don’t you go take a shower while Jim and I finish up some business here?” Tyler obediently vanished into the back of the condo.

Jim stood up to leave. “I’ll take a rain check on that drink. It’s been a tough day, I’m ready to get home.”

“Just a moment; you have some lint, or something, on the back of your jacket. Here, let me get it.” Harvey brushed his hand across Jim’s shoulders; then, moved his hand up Jim’s neck and into his hair.

Jim immediately stepped away. “I think my jacket’s fine, as is.”  


“Maybe so, but that neck of yours feels awfully tense. Sure you don’t want me to massage it for you? I’m good with my hands.” Harvey smiled teasingly.  


“No thanks.” It was an effort for Jim to remain polite.  


“Don’t like guys?”  


Jim’s tone was flat. “Don’t much like lawyers.”  


Harvey laughed. “Good one, Jim!” He lowered his voice. “How about Tyler? He’s not a lawyer. Maybe you’d enjoy his company for the evening. Don’t worry, he’s eighteen.” 

“He looks a lot younger than eighteen.” 

Harvey shrugged. “That’s one of his attributes, don’t you think? That, he’s got the face of an angel, and he’s extremely docile-he’ll do anything I tell him to. But, if boys aren’t your thing, I could provide you with a girl just as easily. Whatever you want, Jim-I like for my friends to be happy. You’ve put in a lot of overtime on this case.” 

Tyler came walking out of the back. Now, Jim understood the look in his eyes. Tyler wasn’t afraid of the police; he was afraid Harvey was going to loan him to Jim for the evening. 

“I’ve got to be going. I hope you both have a good evening.” Jim nodded to Tyler, who looked relieved beyond measure. 

Harvey walked Jim out. “Think about what I said, Jim. Your wish is my command.” Harvey smirked as he shut the door. 

In the elevator, Jim thought about how much he’d love to have one wish where Harvey Dent was concerned. He’d wish to see him behind bars-locked up with a prison population that knew exactly who and what he was.

He found himself thinking about Jonathon Crane-who was just a year younger than Tyler. Jonathan’s life was most likely fucked up beyond all possibility of repair, thanks to his father’s insanity. The poor kid probably would have been better off if that crap his father shot him up with had killed him. At least Gerald Crane had madness as an excuse-Harvey Dent was simply cruel. Jim wondered if Harvey ever even thought about how what he was doing might ruin Tyler’s life. 

Oswald wasn’t at home when Jim got there, but Jim knew where to find him. He took the elevator to the top floor, and walked up the short flight of stairs that led to the roof. There was a deck that the residents frequented in good weather; no one but Oswald ever seemed to go up there in the winter.  
Oswald looked up when Jim appeared, and smiled at him in that special way of his; he always made Jim feel like he was the most important guy on the planet. He had a bag of birdseed, and was refilling the bird feeders he’d put on the roof. Jim walked over and put his arms around him. “C’mon, Ozzie, it’s freezing up here!”

“That’s why it’s important to keep the feeders filled; winter’s a tough time of year for them.”

“You’re a softie, you know that? I guess it’s a tough time of year for those stray cats you’ve been feeding, too.” Jim had found out about the cat food Oswald had been distributing in the alley next to their building; and made him promise not to go out there alone. It didn’t do much good to live in a secure building if Oswald went wandering around the alley by himself.  


Back in their apartment, Jim stretched out on the sofa with his head in his lover’s lap, and told him about the encounter with Harvey Dent. Oswald was outraged.  


“I can’t believe that depraved wretch made a pass at you,” he fumed. “ And then offered to loan you his boyfriend; as if Tyler’s a commodity, to be passed around.”  


“I know.” Jim shook his head. “It’s sad. I feel sorry for Tyler. I think Harvey was trying to set me up-get something on me, so I’d owe him, or so he could blackmail me later. There’s no telling what the bastard had in mind.“  


“Hmph!” Oswald looked like he was angry enough to burst into flames. “I know precisely what he had in mind.”  


“Yes, and if you’d been there you could have hissed and spat at him when he started that ‘wandering hand’ routine. Say...you’re not thinking about having some of your, um, employees tune him up? Promise me you’re not.” Jim sat up. “Oswald? Look at me. No, don’t look over there. Look at me. Promise me you won’t. Stop squirming.” Jim pulled Oswald onto his lap and kissed him.  


“Good sir, I believe you are attempting to take liberties with my youthful innocence. I shall faint at any moment if you don’t desist.” Oswald went limp in Jim’s arms.  


"You haven’t promised, and I’m not letting this go until you do. Oswald! Promise me.”  


"Oh all right, I won’t send anyone to kill him. Or break his legs, or anything. Happy now?” Oswald pouted.  


“Ecstatic! Now, how about I fix us some dinner. While I do, would you look over the case files I picked up? We’ve been at a standstill with this case for a while. Maybe you can make some suggestions, do some asking around, anything. We need some kind of break. Dent’s private detectives got nowhere. “ Jim put the briefcase on the kitchen table; Oswald sat down started going through the information.  


As Jim was putting leftovers into the microwave, Oswald gave a low whistle. “I know this man. Tony Baldinitti. He worked for Falcone, but he was always coming around Bamonte’s, to see Frankie Carbone.”  


Jim was silent as he bustled around the kitchen, getting out plates and silverware.  


“James. You know I killed Frankie, don’t you? Because he was going to kill me; but there was another reason I haven’t talked to you about.”  


Jim stood still. “Ok, so tell me.”  


“ I used to see him meet Tony behind the restaurant. Tony would drop off a boy for Frankie. Sometimes the boys looked to be the same age I was when I started working. Sometimes they looked younger. Frankie would take the child into one of the back rooms. He’d always turn up the music in the restaurant, I guess to keep the rest of us from hearing if there was any crying. I don’t know where Tony got the children from, but maybe that relates to your case.”  


"Ozzie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Jim sat next to Oswald, and hugged him. “It still bothers me when you take the law into your own hands, because I’m a cop, and I’m trying not to do that myself. But I understand that Frankie was a pedophile. Do you think you could ask around about Tony? Anything you can find out might help.”  


“I’ll try. I’ll get Gabe to ask around; too, sometimes people open up to him. Now that I’m openly working for Falcone, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find out whatever there is to know.”  


By the time they went to bed that night, Jim had started having second thoughts about asking for Oswald’s assistance. Oswald was always eager to help Jim with a case; if anyone could find out what Tony’s dirty secrets had been, he knew Oswald could do it. It made Jim queasy, however, to think of how this must bring back memories of the abuse Oswald had suffered as a kid. The tension must have shown in Jim’s face.  


“I’ll be fine, James. Don’t worry about me; thanks to you, I don’t dwell on that part of my life anymore.”  


“You do understand-you’re my number one concern? I know I can be an insensitive jackass, where other people’s feelings are concerned. I don’t mean to be...”  
Oswald held Jim’s face in his hands. “ Don’t call yourself a jackass. I wouldn’t let anyone else call you that. You know I enjoy helping you with your work, every chance I get. ”  


“I know. You’re wonderful like that.”  


“Furthermore...wait. James Gordon, what exactly are you doing?”  


“Oh, just fishing around under the blankets, seeing what I can find.” Suddenly, he grabbed Oswald and flipped him over on his back. “Look! I’ve caught a penguin! I wonder if he’s friendly? I wonder if he’s.... ticklish?”  


“James, no! Don’t you dare!  


Oswald put up a valiant fight, but in the end, Jim discovered that he’d caught a very ticklish penguin, indeed.  
______________________  


It was close to noon when Gabe pulled up outside the Glass Onion, one of the many popular restaurants in Gotham’s flourishing Arts District. Located near Gotham University in an area that was formerly a slum, the Arts District was a vibrant oasis of galleries, shops, nightspots, and theaters. Oswald and Jim had been frequent visitors to the Kean Gallery, and Oswald felt at home amongst the neighborhood’s artists and eccentrics.  


Gabe dropped off Oswald and Barbara, then drove on to look for a suitable parking spot where he could wait. Barbara took Oswald’s arm, and a hostess with hot pink hair led them to a small table in the back. They exchanged pleasantries; after the waitress took their orders, Barbara’s expression became serious. “You didn’t tell Jim, about us meeting, did you?”  


“No, because you asked me not to-but why the cloak and dagger?”  


“I wanted to talk to you about an idea I had, and if this upsets you, you have to tell me-and I’ll never even mention it to Jim. Renee’s already not happy about it. “ The waitress arrived with drinks. Barbara sipped her vodka martini and continued. “My parents are extremely wealthy, mostly due to money inherited from my maternal grandparents. Unfortunately, my parents are the custodians of some trust funds left to my brother and me by those same grandparents. I live off the interest from one of the smaller funds; but the majority are under the control of my parents. The bottom line is, I’ll never see a penny of my inheritance if I don’t meet my parents’ requirements. “  


Oswald raised his eyebrows. “And those requirements are...”  


“I have to be married-to a man, of course; and have at least one child. My brother’s been married for years, they have three children-so he’s home free; and if I “fail” the test, he gets my share as well as his. If I “pass”, I’d have to stay married for a minimum of five years, and the money would be distributed over that time period. We’re talking about billions; so much money it makes Bruce Wayne look poor. My grandparents intended for me to have this inheritance; I’d planned to spend the majority of it setting up a charitable foundation. It makes me furious that my parents would use this as a way to blackmail me into doing their bidding.”  


“I’m guessing you’re thinking that you and Jim could get married, and have a marriage in name only?” Oswald looked thoughtful. “And the part about a child?”  


“See, you understand.” Barbara looked relieved. “As for a pregnancy- the donor wouldn’t even have to be Jim. Renee is ...upset. She feels I should be willing to give up the inheritance, tell my parents to shove it. What do you think?”  


“I don’t know; I’ll have to mull it over. My gut reaction is-no one’s going to marry James, other than me. But I know that can’t happen as long as we’re in Gotham, and we can’t leave for the foreseeable future, because of my employer. I feel guilty, because if not for me-James could leave, start a new life elsewhere...away from this insanity, with a partner who’s not so problematic. ”  


Barbara reached for his hand. “Don’t talk like that, don’t even think it. You know he adores you; he’d be lost without you. I came to you with this idea first, because if the idea upset you, that would be the end of it. I’d never do anything to cause problems between you two.”  


“Thank you for that.” Oswald smiled. He was fond of Barbara; she’d been warm and kind to him from the beginning, and he appreciated her giving him a chance to think about this before approaching Jim. “The idea has its merits. If Jim is to rise through the ranks at the police department, he can’t be married to a criminal; but being married to an heiress would have any number of advantages. May I call you in a few days?”  


“Of course. Now tell me, how are things at your club?”  


“Couldn’t be worse. If I don’t run the place into the ground by the weekend, it’ll be a miracle. Of course, I’ve got the new and improved Butch to help me.”  


Barbara shuddered. “That monster? I still have nightmares about the time he broke into my condo. I’m worried about you, Ozzie; you work with such dangerous people. Not to mention, Fish is still out there somewhere.”  


He shrugged. “On ne jette des pierres qu'a l'arbre chargé de fruits.”

_________________________________  


Cat sat atop the roof of one of Gotham’s tallest buildings, sniffing at the bitterly cold air. She never tired of the glorious sight of the city at night; dizzying acres of light and color, architectural fantasies that resembled space ships; reflections within reflections, all sparkling against the blackness. She had no fear of heights, no fear of falling, or even death. She feared nothing-except people, and in this world-her world-she felt something like happiness, something like peace, because she was alone.  


Lately, though, there’d been a disturbance in her paradise. For months, she’d glimpsed sightings of an interloper trespassing on her territory. She’d named him “The Aerialist”. He was nothing like the circus performers she’d seen recently, when she snuck into the seedy big top to see the Flying Graysons. Those people were nobody and nothing compared to the Aerialist.  


The first time she saw him, she wondered if the last thing she’d eaten had been dosed with some designer drug. She’d been on a similar rooftop, around two am, lost in her own musings; when she glimpsed the impossible. A man dropped off the roof of a nearby building, diving through the air for, perhaps, ten stories.  


And then he’d vanished. Just like that.  


She’d gasped, and rubbed her eyes. Double-checked, on the ground, that there was no squashed body. Re-visited the buildings in daylight, searching for clues, for answers, to no avail.  


A few weeks later, she’d seen him again; flying between buildings, around a corner, and then...gone. He wasn’t her imagination, or a trick of the light, and she didn’t believe in magic. From then on, she had searched for him, and had seen him maybe four more times. She’d figured out that he was using some kind of rope, or cable, that seemed invisible most of the time. He was strong and agile beyond any human being she could have imagined. He wore black, but a black that reflected light in a strange way, so at times he disappeared-like the rope.  


He was human, though; because, what else would he be? She’d gotten one good look at him, standing still, for a few seconds. It was enough for her to see that he was dressed strangely, in a sort of tunic with a hood. He wore a half mask, boots, and he carried gear that she couldn’t entirely make out. He looked to have two katanas strapped to his back, but she wasn’t sure. She was also unsure of whether or not he’d ever seen her.  


She was sure of one thing-that she was going to find out who he was, and why he was there- no matter how long it took.


	18. Beware, My Lovely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Angel of Death strikes again. With Oswald's help, Jim and Harvey make headway in cracking the case. Jim and Oswald's romantic evening is interrupted by a visit from Harvey , who asks an awkward question. Someone's keeping an eye on Harvey Dent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place after episode 18.  
> I hope the details of the Death Angel killings aren't tiresome; I felt it was time to move on and allow Jim and Harvey to make some progress so they don't look like the world's most inept detectives! I also wanted to show how the relationship with Oswald is helpful to Jim in solving cases.  
> Yes, Jim and Oswald watch "The Flash"! Of course they do; they also enjoy Arrow, and Marvel's "Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D." Jim collects comics, what did you expect?  
> Grant Park Mall is named for Grant Park, which is in Gotham's Fashion District. I'm using a map of Gotham that I found here: http://batmangothamcity.net/the-cartographer-of-gotham/

Erin Ayers was moving so fast, she half expected to catch on fire. She couldn’t afford to open the store even a minute late. The mall imposed a fine for that, and she’d get in hot water with “the powers that be” on the corporate level. She’d been the manager of the Grant Park Mall franchise of “Fallen Angels” lingerie for just over a month, without one glitch, and she planned to keep it that way. 

The petite redhead was juggling a coffee, a bag of fast food, her phone (she was texting as she ran), purse, and several tote bags as she struggled with the key to the store’s back entrance. The key had worked perfectly the day before- what the hell? Finally, she burst into the store, and got the place open seconds before the deadline. The first of the sales staff to show up was Paige, a tall brunette whose model good looks were marred by slouchy posture and a perpetually sleepy expression. Erin set to work sorting out the sales rack, and sent Paige to check that the window displays were perfect. They had just launched their “Sirens Collection”, and they’d spent days assembling the elaborate sets-including life sized mannequins made to resemble mermaids-that showcased the new, very pricey line. 

Erin dropped her coffee when Paige started screaming. By the time she got out of the store and into the mall, a crowd had gathered. She could hear Paige wailing as she pushed through the people, to the source of the excitement. 

Someone had repurposed one of the displays. 

The mannequin was now wearing black sparkly wings, and carrying a life sized scythe. It was dressed in a lovely selection of the shop’s best black leatherette lingerie, and looked like a cross between a dominatrix and the Grim Reaper. 

Most striking of all, was the human flesh draped over the mannequin’s face, and the blood that was splattered throughout the tableau- as if the perpetrator had been both a vampire and an abstract expressionist painter. 

Onlookers held their phones aloft, taking photos. Erin knew that within minutes, this was going to be all over the Internet. 

She was so fucked.

____________

Sarah Essen stood in front of a portable corkboard in her office, on which were pinned photos of the five victims attributed to the “Angel of Death”. The office door was closed, so she could speak privately with Jim and Harvey. 

She looked at Jim wearily. “I hope your contact was able to provide some helpful information; this case has been a nightmare from the beginning. No one’s found any connection between the victims, and forensics has been useless. My superiors are threatening to fire every last one of us and start fresh.”

“Here’s what I have.” Jim pointed at one of the photos. “Tony Baldinitti-the one vic whose body we haven’t found-not only worked security for Falcone, he was moonlighting as a pimp. He delivered underage boys and girls to clients, and he got the kids from a place called Crucifixxx Productions. It’s a porn studio that makes and distributes videos, all supposedly legal. They’ve got a division called “First Love” that features “models” age 18-21. A lot of those “models” are under 18, using fake IDs; and all of them get turned out on a regular basis. The business makes more money from whoring out minors than from everything else put together.”

Sarah nodded. “So we need to look at our other vics again, see if they’re connected to Crucifixxx in any way.”

Jim leaned forward. “There’s more. Don Maroni owns a cabin in the countryside that he uses as a hunting lodge. A few weeks ago, he was attacked there; he was tied up, and a person wearing a mask and dressed as a nun shaved his head.” Jim wasn’t going to volunteer that a snitch in Maroni’s operation, who owed Oswald a favor, had coughed up this tidbit: and, he certainly wasn’t going to mention that he was the one who’d left Maroni tied up-after rescuing Oswald. 

Harvey smirked. “Sounds kinky. What does that have to do with the Death Angel?”

“Maroni is one of the investors in Crucifixxx. And the assailant shaved his head with an antique straight razor. Eddie says it could be what the killer uses to remove the vic’s faces. Maybe there’s a connection, maybe not.” He looked at Sarah. “What about the latest victim?”

She read from a file. “The face in the store window at our latest crime scene belonged to Elijah Moss, age 31. The blood was his, too. Until three years ago he worked as a security guard for a bank. After that, things get murky. His income tax returns list his occupation as “self employed-carpenter”. None of his family members seemed to know much about what he was doing for a living, but they all agree he didn’t know jack shit about being a carpenter. His body was found in a dumpster next to the building he lived in.”

Jim frowned. “Just like the first three vics. Let me guess-his apartment wasn’t where he was killed, neither was the alley. We don’t know where our killer worked on the body.”

“You got it.” Sarah rubbed her eyes. “He was choked into unconsciousness, stabbed to death, and then his face was removed, just like all the others. The face was removed post mortem. There’s no evidence of torture; the killer is businesslike and efficient.”

“I’d like to go back to where the very first body was found. If our perp made any mistakes, that’s when he would have most likely made them-when he was starting out, finding his way.” Jim copied the address from the board.

Sarah nodded. “Go.”

____________

“Our first vic was Santiago Ortega, personal trainer, age 28. He was killed, approximately, between one and three am, just like all the others.” Jim was reciting from memory, as he and Harvey stood in the alley next to Santiago’s apartment building. 

They’d been over the details of each murder so many times, Harvey felt like the details were engraved on the insides of his eyelids. “Yeah, and he ended up in this dumpster right here. So what?” Silence. “Hey, Jim, what’re you.......”

“The roof. ” Jim was staring straight up. “The killer took him to the roof, where he could work undisturbed. No one would hear anything, and the way it rains in Gotham- using the roof becomes a forensic countermeasure.”

“Sure, wonder-boy, our perp swooped down on wings, like a vulture, scooped up Mr. Ortega, and carried him to the roof. Why not? Or he waited by the guy’s door, and said ‘Excuse me good sir, could I trouble you to follow me to the roof so’s I can off you?’ Harvey sighed. “Let’s go take a look.”

On the roof, Jim turned his collar up, to ward off the cold wind. They’d only been there a few minutes, when he spotted a glint of gold near the edge of the roof. He used a pen to lift up the small chain, from which hung a cross and a St. Christopher’s medal, and drop it in an evidence bag. 

“I’ll be damned.” Harvey looked incredulous. “That’s the chain Ortega always wore. The one we looked for and couldn’t find. ”

“And look at this.” Jim indicated some nearby bricks. “See here, right at the edge? These brinks have deep scratches gouged into them. I think it’s time to get Eddie up here; I believe we’ve found where Mr. Ortega got his face sliced off.”

____________

Jim groaned. “Oh God, Oh God, that’s the spot. Don’t stop. Harder, right there, so good, so good.....Yes!” The words jumbled together into an incoherent litany of ecstasy.

“ Goodness, James, if I’d known you’d make noises like this, I’d have massaged your feet sooner!” Oswald laughed at Jim’s goofy smile. “Naughty boy, you’re distracting me from the program.”

Jim-who was stretched out on their new, oversized sofa with his feet in Oswald’s lap- glanced at the TV. “I already saw this episode. I can tell you what happens. Don’t stop!” He wiggled his toes.

“Shhhh! No, I want to...did you see that! He just killed Cisco! How can they do that!” 

Jim grabbed Oswald and pulled him over on top of him. “He was killed because he stopped massaging Dr. Wells’ feet. And now, you too, must prepare to meet your fate!”

Oswald snuggled into Jim’s embrace. “You’re impossible! All right, what would you like to see instead? Wait-we never did look at our special Valentine’s Day gift from you know who....”

“I forgot to mention, I’ve looked at parts of it. Once or twice.” Even though the living room was lit only by the TV screen, it was easy to see how red Jim’s face was.

“I can only assume, from that perfectly adorable reaction, that it’s a ‘best of” porno, and we’re the stars. And that you’ve been watching it when I had to work late, while you were longing for my scintillating companionship. ” Oswald slid one hand under Jim’s tee shirt, and began petting his stomach. “Is that why your laptop’s sitting here on the coffee table? Could it also be why I found lube in that drawer?” He nodded towards the end table next to the sofa.

“I refuse to answer without a lawyer present.” Jim unbuttoned Oswald’s pajama top. “Want to see the scenes I downloaded?” Grinning mischievously, he slid out of his shorts and dropped them on the floor. 

“I have a better idea. Let’s divest ourselves of the remainder of this troublesome apparel.” Oswald pulled Jim’s tee off over his head, then stood up to finish disrobing as Jim watched. God, he loved watching Oswald undress. In his mind, his boyfriend’s nude body was more exquisite than any work of art could possibly be. He had a dancer’s body, lithe and graceful; delicious beyond what Jim’s imagination had been able to conjure when he used to wonder what Oswald looked like under all those endless layers of clothing. 

Jim leaned back, sinking into the plush cushions. In short order, Oswald was straddling his lap, facing away from the laptop. “Now, since I can’t see the images, you could describe them to me as you watch.” He trailed his long, delicate fingers down Jim’s chest as he began kissing his neck. 

Jim placed a hand under his love’s chin, and gently tilted his head up until he could capture Oswald’s lips with his own. He never tired of kissing him; nothing was sweeter, or more arousing. Oswald was always so eager, so responsive. 

“So...what are you going to be watching?” Jim whispered. “Oh!” He looked down, and both saw and felt a pale, elegant hand wrap around their erections, pressing them together. As he watched, the hand began moving, slowly, up and down. 

“There seems to be quite a view right here on the sofa,” Oswald purred. “But do tell me what’s playing on the laptop.” 

Jim caressed Oswald’s bare shoulders. “Laptop? Oh. Ooooh. Ummm. That. Yes.” Suddenly, he went foggy on what he was supposed to be looking at on the laptop and why, not that it mattered anymore. They made eye contact; he felt they were looking into each other’s souls. Jim shuddered, and buried his face in his lover’s hair; the feel of it, the scent, was intoxicating. All he wanted was to kiss Oswald again and again, to pull him closer, to devour him. He felt them sliding against each other; skin against skin, as natural and effortless as breathing.

Oswald was making small, soft noises, as they moved together; little gasps and whimpers that did things to Jim he couldn’t even describe. The friction became urgent, feverish, until all he knew was heat and hands and his name being whispered over and over. He bit down on Oswald’s neck as they released; dazed and euphoric, he marked him more roughly than he’d intended. 

Oswald was trembling; Jim held him close, and wrapped a throw around him, rocking him and pressing kisses to his face. “I love you so much, Ozzie. You’re my whole world, you know that?”

Oswald nestled his head against Jim’s chest. “ I love you too, Snuggie Bear.”

They’d almost drifted off when Jim’s phone buzzed insistently. He reached for it; five missed calls, all the same number. He sighed, and answered. “Harvey? Is this important?” Pause. “Yeah, I guess so. Give us twenty minutes.” Pause. “Because we need to shower, that’s why.” Pause. “No, we’re not disgusting, you’re disgusting.”

Oswald made a face. “I know,” Jim grumbled, “He can be a pain. C’mon, we’re a sticky mess.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then scooped Oswald up and carried him into the bathroom. He loved the way Oswald giggled when he did that.  
_______________

Harvey plopped down in an easy chair and looked at the couple on the sofa. Oswald sat with his hands folded primly in his lap; his spine straight. He was wearing black flannel pajamas and black slippers, and looking at Harvey the way he might look at some annoying insect. Jim sprawled next to him, barefoot; in a tee shirt and some sweat pants that had seen better days. His hair was wet, as was Oswald’s, and he had what Harvey referred to as a shit-eating grin. Probably that was connected to the fact that both of their necks were littered with evidence of what they’d just been doing. 

Harvey addressed Oswald: “What are you dressed for, a slumber party at Dracula’s castle?” He couldn’t help himself.

“What a treat it is, that you could visit us this evening. May I get you something to drink, Detective Bullock?” 

“Yeah, when you’re done giving me the stink eye. I’ll take whatever you got.” Harvey downed the drink that Oswald handed him, then got to the point. “I didn’t want to talk to you about this at work, Jimbo, but I’m wondering what happened to that old couple that was baby sittin’ Miriam Loeb. I figure Falcone would be plenty mad if he found out Oswald here was involved in our little adventure. He probably already suspects some hanky-panky, since his pal Gill is suddenly endorsing you for president of the police union. But they could give him the details about how it all went down. At which point, depending on Falcone’s mood, we might all end up at the bottom of the river. ”

Before Jim could answer, Oswald spoke. “They’re dead.” He looked down. “No, I didn’t kill them. I told them to meet me at the club. Victor was there when they got there. He doesn’t leave evidence.”

Despite looking dismayed, Jim moved closer to Oswald, and slipped an arm around his waist. Harvey took note of that-instead of moving away from Oswald, Jim moved towards him. ‘Shit,’ Harvey thought. ‘Goddamnit, Jim, you’re thinkin’ with your dick.”

“Victor knew who they were; he hates loose ends. After all the drama with Fish-that nearly caused Don Falcone to retire-he’s keen on preserving the status quo. Falcone’s back on top of his game; Victor’s happy with that, doesn’t want discord within the family. So he got rid of them, and warned me not to create any more trouble.” Oswald still didn’t look at Jim.

“Thanks for the info. I’ll wish you two lovebirds a good evening, and mosey on home.” Harvey figured Oswald was lying; that he’d probably dispatched the old folks himself. But, he held his tongue, because-why bother? Harvey was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid.

After Jim walked Harvey to the door, he sat next to Oswald and held his hands. “Look at me. Is there more?” Oswald nodded. “Victor feels protective of us; I know it’s creepy, but it works to our advantage. And don’t forget, the people he killed-they tried to kill us first. They weren’t innocent bystanders.”

“It’s my fault they’re dead. I’m the one who was determined to find those files, the ones that weren’t even there.” Jim was clearly upset. “It was my bright idea, all because I couldn’t stand for Flass to come out on top.”

“Please, don’t blame yourself; you’re a good person, you always try to do the right thing. You’re the last person in Gotham who needs to feel guilty.” 

Jim shook his head. “Let’s go to bed; I just want to hold you, and forget about everything.” 

Once in bed, Jim let Oswald comfort him; rubbing his back until he fell asleep.

____________

Harvey Dent was slumming. He looked with disdain at the clientele of the shabby diner as he slid into a greasy looking booth, certain that everything he was wearing would either have to be sent to the cleaner’s, or burned, when he returned home. He ordered a cup of coffee and a slice of key lime pie, despite his conviction that without substantial bribes the place could never pass a health inspection.

Within minutes, he was joined by a tall, thin woman who bore little resemblance to the people Harvey normally associated with. Her black pencil skirt and lilac blouse were subtle enough; but her white blonde hair was odd looking with the unflattering deep tan of her deeply lined skin; her jewelry was flashy, her make-up applied with a heavy hand. Most telling was her expression-hard, tough, as if she’d lived a rough life and was proud of it. She sat down and lit a cigarette.

“Cynthia! My dear, how wonderful to see you!” Harvey moved to kiss her cheek; she waved him away.

“Cut the crap, Dent. Elijah’s dead; the psycho got him. Same nutcase that kidnapped you, I’m betting. I’m doing Elijah’s job, now; but I’m scared shitless. Everybody is.”

“We have to be careful, that’s all. ” Harvey downed a swallow of the bitter coffee, and grimaced. “I have some out of town friends who’ll be in Gotham next weekend, and who’ll require entertainment of the kind you so expertly provide.”

“You coulda just called.” She eyed him warily. “How many boys, how many girls?” 

“Two of each should do nicely; the younger the better. I wanted to see you in person; reassure you. We shouldn’t let some random madman frighten us.” He patted her hand. “Life goes on; and, you mustn’t forget how your bills get paid. Those are some lovely diamonds, by the way.”

“Why do I feel like a hangman just praised my pretty throat? You’ll have your entertainment, just like always. And if any of us land in court, you’ll take care of it-just like always. But I’m tellin’ you- everybody at Crucifixxx is spooked. A couple more murders, and the whole operation’ll go south. That means no more free playmates for you and your buddies.” 

“ You shouldn’t worry so much, darling. You know Gotham, there’s always some maniac running loose, creating a fuss. Odds are the police’ll catch up with him soon. Would you like a lift? I’ve got a driver waiting outside; he doubles as a bodyguard.” Harvey threw some bills on the table. 

“Yeah, sure.” She put out her cigarette in the untouched piece of pie. 

Cindy looked around nervously before climbing into Harvey’s baby blue Jaguar. Her skin crawled; she had the unshakable feeling she was being watched. 

She was right. A lone figure stood atop a nearby building. Had anyone been watching, it would have vanished before they could have been certain of what they saw.


	19. Whirlpool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The GCPD moves forward in investigating the Angel of Death murders. Jim and Oswald attend their niece's wedding in San Clemente, and manage to fit in a bit of quality time for themselves. Oswald meets Jim's brother, Roger, for the first time. Bruce and Ivy assist Selina in her pursuit of the Aerialist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after Episode 18.
> 
> Whirlpool is a 1949 film Noir directed by Otto Preminger, adapted from Guy Endore's novel Methinks the Lady. It's been called a "psychiatric Noir" because the protagonist gets sucked into a murder investigation, and in order to clear herself she has to analyze her own psychological issues as well as those of the killer's. I selected the name of the film as the name for this chapter as a pun related to the jacuzzi (sorry not sorry), and also because Jim and Oswald are- unknown to them- getting sucked deeper into a situation which will have a violent and unpredictable impact on their lives. 
> 
> Bruce would never tell Selina this, but he spent several thousand dollars on those night vision goggles.
> 
> Roger Gordon is a character from the "old" DC comics. He and his wife, Thelma, don't exist in the "New 52".

Eddie was vibrating with excitement. He stood next to Jim Gordon’s empty desk, where he’d deposited an armload of files, fidgeting while he waited. He pretended to read one of the files, and make notations in it; trying to be inconspicuous so that no one would notice him- not that anyone ever paid much attention to Eddie, except to make fun of him. Finally, he spotted Jim coming through the precinct’s front door. 

He didn’t give Jim time to put down his coffee. “You’re needed in autopsy. Immediately.”

“Sure thing, Ed, what’s up?”

Eddie shook his head. “You have to see for yourself.” Jim followed him through a maze of gray hallways. Just before he opened the door to the morgue, he flashed Jim a maniacal grin. “It’s exhilarating!’ he whispered. “A clandestine meeting!””

Inside, were gathered a group with expressions the opposite of Eddie’s: Leslie, Harvey, Sarah, and a stocky, bald man that Jim didn’t recognize. Sarah introduced him. “Jim, this is Gino Cincinelli, from Vice. You know everyone else.” The officer stuck out his hand.

“Nice to meet’cha.” 

“Let’s get to it,” Sarah continued. “Nothing we say can leave this room. Ed, you go first.”

Clearly delighted, Eddie stood up and beamed at his audience. “Forensic evidence has confirmed that four of our five victims were, indeed, killed on the roofs of their respective apartment buildings. We also found damage to the buildings consistent with what might have been caused by some kind of grappling hook.”

Gino spoke next. “We knew something was going on over at Crucifixxx, but we didn’t know what. Nobody was talkin’. When your Captain called and started asking questions, we called in some favors from a snitch, and got an earful. All your vics are connected to ‘First Love”. He indicated a computer screen. “Here’s your first vic; Mr. Ortega’s screen name was Johnny Vargas.” A clip started playing, of a muscular man standing by a swimming pool. “I’ll freeze this here. He was makin’ good money screwing underage girls and boys onscreen. Your second vic, the actor-was a videographer; the college student was in editing and post production. Elijah Moss was managing ‘First Love’; he was a producer, an idea man.” He paused and looked at Sarah. “And you were the one who made the connection with Tony Baldinitti, who was one of Moss’s pimps.”

Actually, Jim thought, Oswald had provided that information. “So five out of five vics were connected with ‘First Love’. And we missed it until now, because except for Moss, they worked there part time, and didn’t exactly advertise what they were doing.”

Leslie spoke up. “What’s the connection with Don Maroni and Harvey Dent?” 

“Maroni’s one of the investors, but he’s peripheral. Dent, he’s the mouthpiece for anyone connected with the operation that gets arrested.” Gino threw up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “All we ever do is bust the little fish, get a few convictions, Dent gets the rest of ‘em off. Then it’s back to business as usual. We never get close to whoever’s the real power behind this. We followed the money trail as far, once, as a guy named Dick Lovecraft; we’re sure he wasn’t the end of the line, but he’s dead, so we’re back to beating our heads against the same brick wall.”

“Our murderer’s a vigilante.” Leslie tapped a pen against her jaw. “He chooses his victims according to very specific criteria, and punishes them for their crimes. What perplexes me, is why go to the trouble to attack Maroni and Dent, and not kill them?”

“It’s a riddle.” Everyone turned to look at Eddie. “Delilah took Samson’s power by cutting off his hair. He’s telling us that Maroni’s not powerful, he’s insignificant-and perhaps, by extension, none of the crime “families” are important here. He made a spectacle out of Dent, because Dent’s our link to the “gold man”- the “real power”-and he didn’t kill Dent because we need him to get to whoever that is.” Eddie’s cheeks were flushed; he looked feverish. “He’s communicating with us. He wants us to do our job, and he sees himself as helping.”

Leslie patted Eddie’s shoulder. “Good thinking, Ed. I’m going to guess our guy is young, fit, strong-and he may have a background in the military, or law enforcement. There’s no evidence of rage, passion or overkill- he’s focused, efficient- cold. The displays he creates-he’s definitely sending a message. There’s one more thing-I’m calling the killer a “he”, but remember - our elderly witness from the cemetery saw, and talked to, a woman. Maybe a man disguised as a woman, but he said the voice sounded feminine. It’s possible the killer is a woman, or a man working with a female accomplice.” 

“All right, then.” Sarah pointed at Harvey. “You investigate Dent. Find out everything about where he goes, who he associates with. Dig up every bit of info about him you can find, and keep digging.” She turned to Gino. “Can you set up a sting, get some of your officers undercover? If you can find out who in Crucifixxx are the next likeliest targets, maybe we can catch our killer in the act.”

“Our snitch told us the place is in chaos. They’re short handed. People have been quittin’, leavin’ town-they’re terrified of the psycho. It’ll be easy to get some of our guys hired. Maybe we can help you nail your perp, and you can help us figure out who the “gold man” is.” Gino stood up to leave. “I’ll get back to you.”

As the others left the room, Harvey walked over to Jim. “When’re you leavin’ town?”

“Tonight. We’ll only be gone three days. I know it’s rotten timing, but my niece didn’t consult me when she decided to get married.”

“It ain’t fair, partner-you having all that fun while I’m stuck here. Jeez, I love weddings.“

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I get sentimental about all that free booze and food. Brings a tear to my eye, just thinkin’ about it. And if it’s a big enough weddin’, they don’t even notice I wasn’t invited.”

_____________

A year earlier, the last place on earth Oswald would have expected to find himself was in Southern California, at a beach wedding. He would have laughed at anyone who told him that he’d be considered a member of the family; and the suggestion that he’d be there with James Gordon would’ve convinced him that the speaker needed a one way ticket to Arkham Asylum. 

But, here he was. It made him feel so absolutely normal, so damned happy, the effect was surreal. The bride had introduced him to her fiancé, Aidan, as her Uncle; and Aidan had told Oswald how much he’d looked forward to meeting Heather’s relatives from Gotham. It was a strange feeling for Oswald, to be accepted with such warmth. The fight for survival that had consumed most of his life seemed blessedly far away. 

To say that the wedding had been casual was an understatement. In jeans and a button down shirt (both black, of course), Oswald was the most formally dressed person in a group where everyone was barefoot and most were wearing shorts. He was sitting at a small table, watching Jim dance with the bride. Jim was laughing, beaming at his niece; he looked lighthearted, carefree. Oswald wanted to remember this moment; this image of his beloved, to lock it away in his heart where nothing could ever touch it.

A voice broke into his reverie. “This seat taken? Didn’t think so.” Roger looked so little like Jim, it was difficult to believe they were brothers. Where Jim was compact and muscular, Roger was tall, and had a soft look about him-not so much fat, as fleshy. 

“So, you’re Jim’s boyfriend. He’s something else isn’t he? I saw you watching him. The same way everybody watches him.” Roger laughed. “Welcome to the family. I hope you didn’t think every one of us was going to be as nice as Anna and her fairytale brood. Did Jim tell you that both our parents were alcoholics, and that Daddy dearest had a gambling problem? Not to mention all those women, and his underworld cronies. I hear you’ve got some underworld connections, yourself.”

“You must be thrilled, to have this opportunity to share in Heather’s happiness. I wouldn’t dream of tarnishing such a day with discussions of the mundane.”

“You’re a cool one, aren’t you?’ Roger regarded Oswald with amusement. “You’re pretty much what I expected. Jim’s always been a hero-the family hero, the high achiever, the war hero. Now, he’s Gotham’s savior- and your hero, too, I’m guessing. You must feel grateful that he’s interested in you. Barbara was like that. Poor little rich girl, grateful for a suitable man to redeem her in the eyes of her parents. Jim’s a rescuer; he thrives on gratitude. I mean,” he smiled, showing his teeth in a way that turned the smile ugly, “Just look at you.” 

Holly plopped down next to Roger. “Your wife’s looking for you.” As he left, she eyed Oswald. “I see you’re getting to know Roger. Feeling suicidal yet, or is he off his game?” 

“Is he always this charming?”

“ Some people are mean drunks. Roger’s the opposite. He’s Ok when he’s drinking, but when he’s sober he’s a sadist. I should be glad he went to re-hab, all I can think is I wish he’d start drinking again. Does that make me a bad person?” 

Jim returned, and pulled Oswald to his feet. “Dance with me? Please? It’s a slow dance, we’ve done it at home.” He kissed Oswald on the cheek.

As if Oswald could refuse Jim anything. 

For Jim, he pushed aside feeling awkward and self conscious; forced himself to stop thinking about how dancing was the last thing he wanted to do in public, with his crippled leg. Jim supported him, held him close; and everything around them melted away, until Oswald was aware of nothing but the gentle motion of their bodies swaying together.

He looked up at Jim, who was gazing at him lovingly. Two days at the beach, and already Jim’s hair looked blonder. His skin was taking on a golden glow, and his blue eyes-surrounded by the most adorable crinkles-seemed even brighter than usual. 

Oswald thought about all the times, when he was a child, bouncing from one foster family to the next; that he sought escape in watching old movies on whatever piece of shit TV he found available. Whereas Jim favored films noir, Oswald had found solace in romantic comedies and musicals. He’d held his breath while watching Fred and Ginger glide around the dance floor. She, elegant and graceful in a confection of feathers and sequins; him, dashing and debonair in a formal tux; and their characters, so completely in love. He hadn’t dared to dream anything so wonderful could possibly happen to him.

Yet here he was; in the arms of the man he loved; who, unbelievably, loved him in return. It was so much more than he had hoped for. It didn’t matter that it was a beach, rather than some Hollywood fantasy of an art deco nightclub; everything was perfect. It frightened him. He’d never had anything, or anyone, to lose before. Roger was right-Jim was his hero.

When they sat down, Jim asked about his leg.

“Leg? What leg?” 

Holly returned just in time to see Jim lean over and kiss Oswald on the lips. “ Do that again and I’ll take a picture. Cute! You shoulda just made it a double wedding.”

_____________

“James! What if someone comes out and...here we are, au naturel?”

“They’re all sound asleep, and if they did-we’re consenting adults. It’s a Jacuzzi, Ozzie, you don’t wear a suit and tie in it. It’ll be fun!” Jim handed him a bathrobe. 

Oswald allowed himself to be led outside to the patio. As Jim pulled the cover off the Jacuzzi, Oswald looked at it suspiciously. 

“Ozzie, it’s not dangerous! Seriously, you’ve never been in a Jacuzzi before?” Jim dropped his robe on the patio and settled into the bubbling water. “C’mon, you’ll like it. And I know it’s a cliché, but look-we have champagne, courtesy of ‘my sister bought too much of everything for the reception’.”

Oswald poked a toe into the water, as Jim gave him “the look”. “James, that’s not fair. You know I can’t resist ‘sad adorable puppy face’.” Oswald disrobed quickly and got into the hot tub. His eyes widened. “This is...rather pleasant!”

Jim put an arm around him, and handed him a glass of champagne. “See? I bet it’ll be good for your leg, too. Which reminds me-as soon as we get back to Gotham, we’re going to make an appointment with that specialist.”

“You know I hate going to doctors.” Oswald cuddled up to Jim. “But we’ll talk about it.” He leaned back. “This does feel delicious. James? When we get back to Gotham, can we get a kitten?”

“A kitten? What made you think of that?”

“Being around our nieces, and the rest of the family-except your brother, it’s delightful. Kittens could be our surrogate children.”

“We’ve gone from kitten to kittens in less than a minute. As long as you don’t bring home every stray cat in the neighborhood, a couple of kittens is fine with me.” Jim’s expression turned dark. “What did Roger say to you?”

“Nothing, really. Something about how a hideous cripple such as myself should be licking your feet in gratitude for the fact that you ever looked twice at me. Holly says he’s equally venomous to everyone, when he’s sober.”

“I’m sorry, Ozzie. I could strangle him for talking to you like that. He wasn’t always so hateful; we were close when we were kids.”

“It’s not your fault, forget about it. I feel sorry for his wife-Thelma’s sweet, and their munchkin- Babs- is such a little darling, I’d love to steal her and take her home with us. Besides, I agree with Roger-I should be licking your feet. Licking, nibbling-any and all available parts of your anatomy... James, wherever has that hand of yours wandered to? You’re being most ungentlemanly!”

Jim moved to kiss Oswald, who pulled away teasingly and slid to the other side of the Jacuzzi. “As an aquatic bird, I find I’m in my natural element. You may find it a challenge to capture me, intrepid hunter though you may be.”

Amidst much splashing, Jim managed to get hold of him. “Ah, but I know all the secret ways to gentle the wild penguin. First, you carefully run your fingernails up and down his back.” 

Oswald continued to struggle- unconvincingly. 

Jim pushed him up against the side of the Jacuzzi and kissed him; lingering over the kiss until he felt his lover relax. “Then you promise him a kitten. Maybe two.”

Oswald laid his head in the crook of Jim’s neck.

“And then the dashing adventurer suggests to the handsome fowl that the two of you should move the party indoors, where a soft, fluffy, king sized nest awaits, complete with an enthusiastic mate.”

_____________

Sometime between midnight and dawn, Jim awoke with the feeling that he was being watched. “You awake, Ozzie?”

“Um-hum. Listening to the ocean. Admiring your god-like physique. You know, the usual.”

“I’m surprised you’re not sleeping like the dead.” Jim rolled over and wrapped his arms around the smaller man. “After fucking me into the mattress. Which, by the way, was awesome.”

“About that...”Oswald hesitated. “That’s the first time you’ve ever wanted me to do that without tying you up first.”

“ Tonight-I wasn’t thinking about it, it just sort of happened. I like being restrained, sometimes; it’s relaxing. I’m not sure I can explain it. I trust you, and I enjoy putting myself in your hands. I’m not into pain, at all; it’s about letting go and allowing you to be in control. If it’s starting to bother you, we don’t have to use restraints any more. Seriously, it’s not so much about what we do as it is about being with you.” 

Jim sounded so earnest; Oswald knew he was speaking from the heart. “Of course it doesn’t bother me; it thrills me to please you. The only thing that bothers me-is I still marvel at the idea that you want me, with all my flaws, when you could have anyone you desire.”

“I swear!” Jim sounded exasperated. “It looks like I’m going to have to go find Roger and beat his sorry ass into the dirt.”

“Don’t blame your brother. Here you are, looking like a bronzed deity, and I can’t even get near the beach without slathering myself with sunscreen an inch thick. I’m as pale as....”

Jim shut him up with a kiss. “Ivory? Moonlight? I can go on. Or you can stop talking nonsense. I’ve told you before, you don’t have any competition. ”

“Thank you. I feel...a little insecure, sometimes. Not as much as I used to.”

“It’s all right, Ozzie. You’re safe; I’ve got you.” Jim stroked Oswald’s hair until they both fell asleep.

_____________

Selina perched on the edge of the hospital’s roof. She was wearing something that looked like a combination of goggles and binoculars strapped to her face.

Ivy looked impressed. “Gotta hand it to you, kid-that’s some weird looking shit.” 

“They’re professional quality night vision goggles.” Bruce was trying to sound nonchalant. “If you want a better look at your suspect, they’re exactly what you need.”

Selina smiled. “Thanks. But he’s not quite a suspect in anything. At least, not yet.”

“Oh, right.” Ivy rolled her eyes. “I’m sure the guy’s just swinging around buildings in the middle of the night for fun. Besides, I told you what Little Mike said. He saw that porn star get snatched. Yanked right off the street, by some guy with a rope.”

“Did anyone tell the police?” Both girls looked at Bruce and shook their heads pityingly. 

“Never mind. I can stay up here for a while, before I need to get back to Alfred’s room. We can take turns looking for your mysterious acrobat. What’re we going to do if we see him?”

“Just watch him, for now.” Selina shrugged. “Try to figure out what he’s up to. Whatever else he’s doing, he’s infringing on my territory. I wanna know why.”

The three children kept talking, and eagerly searching for signs of the Aerialist. An hour passed, then another; disappointed, they gave up and disappeared into the building. They had seen nothing, and no one.

Of course, that didn’t mean that no one had been watching them.


	20. Guilty Bystander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harvey Dent pays a visit to his Aunt Clarice, a Judge who happens to be Bruce Wayne's neighbor. Officer Len Moore gets more than he bargained for. Jim and Oswald struggle to come to terms with the conflict between Jim's moral code and Oswald's profession. The Angel of Death behaves unpredictably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after episode 19, "Beasts of Prey"

Spring arrived in Gotham, a profound disappointment for anyone who expected relief from the constant precipitation of winter. Freezing rain was replaced by warm rain, snowstorms gave way to thunderstorms, and the sky swirled with clouds the sullen purple color of bruised flesh. Daffodils and forsythia added splashes of bright yellow to city parks and suburban vistas; for those fortunate few who lived in the area where Wayne Manor was located, spring meant crews of gardeners working their magic on the grounds of sprawling estates. 

Occasionally, very occasionally, the sodden populace received mercy in the form of a few hours of blue skies. This particular afternoon was one of those rare times, and Harvey Dent hated to waste it visiting his Aunt Clarice. He was, however, a man who was clever enough to know what was good for him; and so, acting in the service of enlightened self-interest, he was being driven through the countryside towards the formidable estate of his formidable Aunt. As they drove through the gates, they passed a dozen or more workers toiling to perfect the landscaping that surrounded Clarice’s gargantuan mansion. It rivaled Wayne Manor in size, and was, in Harvey’s opinion, equal parts ostentatious and oppressive. 

His driver let Harvey out at the front door; he was ushered inside by a butler, and led to one of the immense living rooms. Despite the surprisingly modern furnishings, it had all the warmth of a crypt. Just like his aunt. 

He hadn’t long to wait before Clarice Elizabeth Dent Lancaster entered the room, and dominated it. Harvey wasn’t certain of his aunt’s age, though she must have been close to sixty. It was difficult to tell, since she could afford the kind of cosmetic surgeries and procedures that really did work miracles. Her hair was a color Harvey thought of, sarcastically, as “blonde eternity”; she was fit and toned, of medium height and build, and possessed startlingly large gray eyes. 

He stood up. “Judge Lancaster! How delightful to see you outside of your courtroom, for a change!”

“Counselor!” she retorted. “What a liar you are!” She laughed, in a way that made Harvey’s skin crawl; the sound didn’t match up with her expressionless visage. He hated the way Botox made a person’s face immobile. It made the person impossible to read.

A uniformed maid appeared, with a tray of coffee, fruit, and cheeses. She served them, deftly, then vanished, as unobtrusive as a shadow. 

“How’s the police investigation going, concerning your kidnapping and the “Angel of Death” murders?”

“So far as I know, it’s not. ”  
“Good. It’s in all our best interests to keep it that way. The less the police know the better. If they were to connect me with Crucifixxx, the results could be tragic.”

“I’ve never understood why owning Crucifixxx was so important to you. The money it generates is pocket change, where you’re concerned.” Harvey looked puzzled. “And as for the pretty waifs you sometimes need for entertaining friends; well, you could get them elsewhere.”

“I have powerful friends, more powerful than you or I could ever dream of being. From time to time, they have need of individuals who can disappear from the land of the living; that no one will ever bother looking for. I can provide those, at little risk to me and no risk to my friends.” She settled back in her chair. “And that makes Crucifixxx an asset. If you’re smart, you’ll ask no more questions along those lines.”

“And what’s to stop the police from asking further questions?”

“My friends.” She answered crisply. “They’re taking steps to find this madman and eliminate him. When the killings stop, the police’ll stop looking. If it weren’t for the murders, no one would give a rat’s posterior about a few naughty videos. Has your friend Gordon said anything else to you?”

“He’s hardly my friend, though not for lack of trying. But no, I haven’t gotten anything out of him since I borrowed those files, on the pretext that I had private detectives investigating the case. ”

“Try harder. He may turn out to be useful. At least, that’s what my friends think, or else he’d already be dead. “ She sipped her coffee and looked out a window at a koi pond, next to which stood a bronze sculpture of a satyr. “Do you remember when I asked you to make a show of threatening the late Mr. Lovecraft? Poor Dick, God rest his soul. He had powerful friends, too, but he was a disappointment to them. When they needed a sacrificial lamb...you know what happened next. I don’t plan to share his fate. ”

“Nor do I, Clarice. I’m doing my best to buddy up to Gordon; I made a few false steps, and now I’m backpedaling. And, I’m encouraging the management at Crucifixxx to remain calm.”

“I didn’t want to talk to you about this over the phone, for obvious reasons; but, from this point on, stay clear of the people at Crucifixxx. Don’t contact them. If any of them come to you for legal assistance, let me know immediately. Should it become necessary, my friends are prepared to send in a professional-to clean up the mess. It wouldn’t be good for your health to be a bystander, and you know it’d break my heart if anything happened to my favorite nephew.”

Harvey knew no such thing, nor did he believe she had a heart. But he understood the benefits of being on Clarice’s good side. 

“I’ve been fortunate,” she continued. “I have wealth, power, and the best husband any woman could ask for. His greatest attribute being, of course, that he died twenty years ago and left me his family’s fortune. As for me, I plan to live a long time, and die of extreme old age, at home in my own bed.”

Her meaning was clear-she didn’t have to say, “and anyone who gets in my way will die before I do.” Her late husband had perished in a mysterious fire that claimed his life and the life of his favorite mistress. Clarice was lucky like that. 

“You’ll outlive all the rest of us, I’m sure.” Harvey kept smiling, resisting the urge to squirm and stare at his feet. His aunt always made him feel like he was five years old, and had done something wrong. “I’d be lost without you, Clarice. You really are too good to me!”

“I try, Harvey. I’ve got to excuse myself, now-some girlfriends are coming over for “Mahjong night”, and they’ll be here any minute.”

Harvey couldn’t wait to get home. 

__________

Another Gothamite who couldn’t wait to get home was Officer Len Moore. The baby faced redhead didn’t look forward to walking all the way home, but he didn’t have a choice-his car was in the shop, and he’d been unable to pay for the repairs it needed. 

It‘d been a grueling day. Watching Jim Gordon screaming in Commissioner Loeb’s face had unnerved him. Once Gordon and that smarmy bastard Bullock had caught onto him, he’d feared that Gordon would drop the Don Juan case, and Loeb wouldn’t fork over the bonus money he’d promised Len. But Len had gotten his money, after all, and now he’d be able to get his car fixed. Even better, he could pay for his share of the groceries so maybe his girlfriend would stop bitching about how his sorry ass was always broke.

He was a couple of blocks away from home when a blonde abruptly stepped into his path and ran right into him. She fell to the sidewalk, her purse flew out of her hands, and she cried out in pain.

“Jesus, Lady, watch where you’re going!” He bent over to help her up. “Are you ok?”

She stood up shakily. “I’m so sorry, I was daydreaming and...I fell on my ankle. Damn, just give me a minute. Where’s my purse?”

“I’ll get it.” It had landed in the alley they were standing next to. Len walked a short way into the alley, the blonde clinging to him for support. When he handed her the purse, she smiled, and he noticed how attractive she was. 

“You’re very kind. Please let me do something to repay you.” She reached into her purse. Before he could react, she stuck his arm with the hypo she pulled out, and in seconds, he was unconscious. 

When Len came to, he had one hell of a headache. Slowly, as he returned to consciousness, he realized he was lying on a cot. He sat up, fighting back dizziness and nausea. 

He was in a cage; tall enough for him to stand up in. It was bolted to a concrete floor in what appeared to be a basement. In one corner of the cage were a toilet and a sink. A lone light bulb, located on the ceiling near the one door to the room, provided a feeble bit of illumination. As he watched, the door opened.

Len’s first thought was that the man must be an escapee from Arkham. He was dressed in black, a hood pulled up over his head, and he wore a black half mask. “If you do exactly as I say, I’ll allow you to live.” The voice was flat, expressionless. “I’ll bring food in a few hours.” The man turned to leave.

“Whu...wait-who are you? What do you... listen, I’m a police officer, you’d better not think....”

The door closed.

Exhaustion, combined with the drug that was still in his system, overwhelmed Len. He lay back down, and passed out. 

The hooded man climbed the stairs to the ground floor, where the blonde was waiting for him. “How’re things with the renovations upstairs?”

“Right on schedule.” He shed his mask and tunic, and folded them into a gray gym bag, as she picked up her car keys.

Gravel crunched under her tires as she drove away. Neither she nor her passenger spoke as she carefully navigated the twists and turns of the narrow, unpaved road. By the time they reached the highway that led to Gotham, the house was completely invisible. 

__________

Jim dragged himself through the door. He encountered a delicious, savory smell coming from the kitchen, and one very concerned boyfriend who greeted him with a kiss. 

“Uh-oh, looks like you had the day from hell. Here, let me take your jacket.” Oswald guided Jim into the bedroom, where Jim flopped onto the bed face down. “Don’t move, I’ll take care of everything.” Oswald hummed while he undressed Jim, who was limp as a rag doll. “Your robe and slippers, my liege! Except they’re flip flops from the dollar store because I haven’t been able to get you to wear proper slippers. Yet. And I’ve brought home something for dinner.”

Jim sat up and shrugged into his robe, then grabbed Oswald around the waist and pulled him onto the bed. “Have I told you today how wonderful you are?”

“Sir, I believe you’re once again attempting to turn my head with your flattery in the hope that I may relinquish my virtue. Whatever shall I do?” 

“I can think of a few things, but maybe we should attack that dinner first. I’m starving! What is it?”

“The main course is ravioli. Lydia makes the best in Gotham. I bought her restaurant today, by the way. I’ll tell you about it after we eat.”

After dinner, they settled into bed, and Oswald began massaging Jim’s neck. “Tell me about your day first.”

“ Loeb suckered me into taking on another serial killer case. Had a uniform flatter me into thinking I was the only one who could do it because I’m such a big hero and blah blah blah. I was dumb enough to fall for it, then I found out the killer targets the loved ones of any cop who goes after him. Loeb showed up at the station, I lost it, and screamed in his face that after I got the killer I was going to have Loeb’s ass on a platter.”

“You poor thing! My day was a picnic by comparison.”

“Oz, did you hear the part about how this guy may target my loved ones?”

Oswald looked unconcerned. “I don’t mean to be flippant, but that’s a daily occupational hazard in my line of work. I certainly don’t expect you to shrink from doing your job. Go get the bastard.” He put his hand over his mouth and chortled. “I just had a mental image of Loeb’s ass cooked up, on a platter, surrounded by dressing and cranberry sauce. James Gordon, cannibal cop!” He laughed so hard he started coughing.

“Don’t choke. And thanks for being understanding. I’m still going to worry about you.”

“Save your worrying for Don Maroni. The restaurant I bought today is where I’m planning to kill him. Don’t look so shocked. He’s made his intentions clear, it doesn’t matter what he promised Falcone. If I don’t kill him first, he’ll find a way to kill me; or he’ll find out about us and go after you.”

Jim froze. “That’s premeditated murder...you promised you wouldn’t...”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but it’s self-defense. Tell me how many lives your new serial killer has ended.”

“At least thirteen, but what does that have to do with......?”

“Don Maroni’s responsible for hundreds of deaths. He makes your serial killer look like a social worker. If Maroni lives, there’ll be a gang war between him and Falcone, it’s inevitable. I told you the streets would run red with blood, and they will-unless Maroni can be replaced by someone who’s content to let Falcone be number one.” Oswald took a breath. “And then there’s your life, and mine to consider. Would you rather I lied to you, kept things from you?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. Everyone keeps secrets, maybe there’s only so much truth anyone can take. I’m not angry at you, Ozzie, but I wish there was another way........ it’s just that this is difficult, and..........”

“What?” 

Jim turned to look at him. “I love you.” 

There was nothing else to say.

They fell asleep the way they always did, in each other’s arms; but neither of them slept well.

__________

Gotham hadn’t provided anyone with pleasant dreams lately. The dark circles under Cindy Bertolucci’s eyes made her look like an extra in a zombie apocalypse film. She tossed and turned most nights, repeatedly startled out of sleep by nightmares about the psycho who’d dispatched her predecessor. 

In her business, everyone worked late, carrying out their activities under cover of darkness. First Love’s videos were currently being made in an appropriately seedy neighborhood, in a run-down building that had previously housed a thrift shop. The thrift shop had been the front for a fence, whose lucrative operation came to an abrupt end when someone used a tire iron to splatter his brains all over the bathroom wall. All three stories of the place had been adapted to meet the needs of the porn production company; even the basement had proven useful, having been made into a makeshift laundry where the washers and dryers chugged and spun ceaselessly. There was always something-clothes, bedspreads, costumes-that needed washing. The running joke was that the whole building smelled of sweat, sex, and fabric softener.

As the executive producer, it fell to Cindy to be the last to leave after closing up shop. Don Maroni, who had his own grudge against the killer stalking First Love, sent a couple of thugs and a driver to pick her up each evening; still, it was a testament to Cindy’s legendary brass balls that she refused to quit her job. 

It was around two am when Cindy’s ride dropped her off at her apartment building. She pulled a handgun from her purse before getting out of the car, opening the door to the deserted lobby with a key in one hand and her gun in the other. She backed into the elevator, her pulse racing. When she reached her floor, she scanned the hallway before stepping out, then strode swiftly to her own door and unlocked it as fast as she could.

Once inside, she walked slowly through the apartment, gun in hand; turning on lights, opening closets, peering under furniture. When she entered the bedroom, she knew something was wrong-it was cold. Too cold. Just as she spotted the open window, someone grabbed her from behind and lifted her off the ground. 

Cindy fought. She struggled to aim the gun behind her, but she fired and missed her mark, only to have the weapon knocked from her grip. She snapped her head back, making contact with the assailant’s nose; heard a satisfying crunch. He relaxed his grip on her throat just long enough for her to break free. Running into the living room, she grabbed a handful of potpourri from a dish, turned and flung it into the man’s face. He stepped back, blinded, as she plunged towards the door screaming for help. In the hallway, neighbors- having heard the shots-had gathered; she threw herself into the nearest person’s arms. 

By the time the police arrived, the intruder was, of course, long gone. All that was left of him was Cindy’s description; a muscular man, about five foot eleven, wearing a black half mask and possessing a full head of coppery red hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is named after Guilty Bystander, a 1950 American "B" noir in which none of the characters is innocent, and everyone hides guilty secrets.
> 
> The building which "First Love" is using as a production site is, indeed, the place where the fence mentioned in chapter 8 was murdered by his brother-in-law.
> 
> I was thrilled to see the character of Officer Len Moore introduced in episode 19 of Gotham, as he's proving to be most useful.


	21. The Dark Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim interviews Cindy. Victor gives Butch some surprising orders. Jason targets Barbara’s parents. Oswald discovers that Gertrud and Jim have been keeping secrets. Jim and Oswald work through their differences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Jason uses homophobic slurs to gain the trust of Barbara’s parents. 
> 
> This chapter takes place around the same time frame as episodes 20-21-22, but I’m altering the continuity to fit my story.

Cindy Bertolucci slumped on her next-door neighbors sofa, chain smoking. Eddie and the forensics team were at work in her apartment, while she described the night’s events to Jim and Harvey. For someone who’d just been attacked by a serial killer, she was remarkably composed. 

“Is there anything else you can think of, any details at all?” 

She glared at Jim. “I’ve been over this, with you and the other cops, at least a dozen times. The only thing I have to add is that this is your fault. If you were doing your job, you’da caught this nutcase by now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jim looked at his notes. “Have you been ill recently?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” 

“The more we know about the people he targets, the better chance we have of figuring out what makes him tick.” Jim gave Cindy his best “sad, sincere, public servant” face. 

“Yeah, I’ve had some kind of bug. Stomach thing, can’t afford to miss work. Puking, had the trots, can’t eat much. Feel like hell, and I know how I look.”

Harvey doubted that. The phrase “rode hard and put up wet” passed through his mind.

On the way back to the precinct, Jim was quiet.

“I called Gino on the way over here. He said little Cindy’s taken over the late Mr. Moss’s job at First Love.” Harvey narrowed his eyes. “What’s on your mind, partner? I can hear those gears grinding.”

“The Death Angel. He easily overcomes young, strong, fit men. Yet skinny, sickly, Cindy fights him off. She can’t weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds, and she’s weak from the stomach flu. I don’t think he meant to kill her. I think he wanted her to get away, and he attacked her in her apartment because he wanted her to get a look at him.”

“If it was even him. But let’s say it was. Why would he want her to see him? Hey, that’s the second donut shop you’ve passed!”

“Sorry, Harv. I dunno, maybe to further terrorize the people at Crucifixxx. Maybe to send us another message, of some kind. I’ve got this idea-that he’s operating under a personal code of honor. Look at the people he hasn’t killed. Maroni was tied up; Dent was drugged; Cindy’s sick and underweight. None of them could put up a fair fight.”

“All I know is, the Death Angel gives me a huge headache. And we’ve got a bunch of leads to track down on the Don Juan case. Which reminds me, did you call Barbara?” Harvey gestured at a coffee shop, and Jim pulled over. 

“Last night. Talked to Renee, too. Maybe it’s a stretch to think he’d go after my ex-fiancé, but I told them to be careful.”

____________

Gertrud leaned against Oswald, her eyes squeezed shut. “That man-that terrible man-he has gone?”

He wrapped his arms around her, and she could feel him shaking with rage. “Yes, he’s gone; here. Let me......”

“Good riddance. What a fool!” Gertrud sat up and ran her hands through her hair. “I was convincing, yes? He believes he upset me. I am as good of an actress as ever I was when young.” She laughed and muttered, “imbecil!” under her breath.

“But...but...mother....I don’t understand!” Oswald looked horrified, and close to tears.

“You are my son, and I love you. Nothing changes that, my darling. I have known for a long time that you were not just a nightclub owner; but I pretended, to spare your feelings.” She leaned closer and whispered. “I have spoken with Jim about this. We agreed it was best.” 

Gertrud stood up, and smiled. “Mr. Maroni is a buffoon, he stinks of garlic and cheap cologne. Come, take me home, please. We will talk some more.”

“Yes, mother-of course. Just one moment.” He gestured to Butch. “Is everything in order, pertaining to the matter we discussed earlier?” 

Butch nodded. 

Oswald led his mother out of the club. To Butch’s amusement, Oswald looked twice as upset as the old lady. She was a tough old bird; that ditzy act fooled just about everyone, but not Butch. 

His amusement faded when Victor Zsasz walked in. “Good afternoon, Butch. We need to chat. In private.”

Butch led the way to Oswald’s office, waited for Victor to sit down; then sat as far away from him as possible.

Victor laughed. “Don’t be afraid, Butch -I won’t bite. Now, where are the guns Oswald asked you to plant in Lydia’s restaurant?”  
“They’re right here, Mr. Zsasz.” Butch produced a case. “He...told you about this?”

“There’s very little that Mr. Cobblepot does that I don’t know about.” He began to examine the weapons. “ The Irishman is meeting you here shortly, to pick up his payment, isn’t he? When you give him these, give him this also. “ He handed Butch a slip of paper. “Tell him to say this to Maroni, before he kills him.”

After reading the message, Butch looked confused. “I thought the reason you weren’t doing this yourself, was that no one was supposed to connect Maroni’s death to Don Falcone. This makes it seem like Falcone planned the hit, which he didn’t.........”

Victor sighed. “You’re over-thinking this. Maroni’s not going to die; not after I ‘adjust’ these weapons. But, he’ll blame Falcone for trying to kill him. And, if we’re all lucky, those two will fight to the death and get it over with.”

Butch tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. “Why would you want that? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“ I respect Don Falcone; but he and Maroni are living in the past- in a world of black and white gangster movies, where prohibition is still in effect, and Al Capone hasn’t been dead for half a century. That’s bad for business. Gotham deserves peace and prosperity; and so do I. And you. And Oswald. Doesn’t that sound good to you, Butch?”

Nothing sounded good when Victor was around, but Butch managed to croak out a “Yes, sir,” before he left.

____________

The minute Jim arrived home, he knew something was wrong. Oswald was sitting on the sofa with his arms crossed; staring straight ahead, he didn’t look at Jim or acknowledge his presence. 

“Ozzie?” Jim sat next to him. “What’s happened?”

“Why didn’t you tell me that mother knew about my...less than legal activities?”

Uh-oh. “She asked me to promise her I wouldn’t. She said it was easier for both of you; and that I shouldn’t interfere. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Silence.

“You’re angry at me.” Jim moved closer. “Talk to me.”

“Maroni showed up, and said horrible things to mother. He told her I was insane, a psychopath. He talked about how I killed Frankie, told her I was a monster. Said she needed to know just how disgusting I am.”

Oswald’s eyes were red; Jim could tell he’d been crying. “I’m so sorry, Oz. I should’ve told you about the talk I had with your mother.”

“Yes. You should have, I really should be furious, and I need you to hug me. Right now. Please?” 

Jim wrapped his arms around him. “Your mother loves you. Nothing’ll ever change that.”

“I didn’t even know I had a mother until I was ten. No one was mean to me at the orphanage, but no one ever wanted to adopt me. That was my dream; the fairy tale with a happy ending-that someone would adopt me. The foster families I lived with weren’t horrible; blue-collar people who took in foster kids to get the stipend that came with us. Still, nobody paid much attention to me. I wasn’t special to anyone. Every time I started to get to know my foster siblings, we’d all get moved around again. When my mother showed up out of nowhere- it was the happiest day of my life. I mattered. I was important to someone. I would have done anything for her. That’s why I did what I did to get work when I was a teenager.”

“None of it was your fault, Ozzie. It breaks my heart to think of you being hurt like that. ”

“I never would have done what I did, if it had just been me-I would have starved to death first. But you know what would have happened to my mother-they would have put her in Arkham Asylum. You know what happens to indigent people there.”

“Yeah. I saw it first hand. It was awful.” The memories made Jim sick, if he thought about it for too long.

“I couldn’t lose her, I had to take care of her. I lied to her about the work I did-how was I supposed to tell her I was ...doing things I was ashamed of, just so I could make money delivering drugs? I didn’t want her to be sorry she took me away from the orphanage. Most days I went to school, where I was an outcast. Then I went home to take care of my mother, who was out of her head more than half the time. Then I went to work. The worst part was that the men...that I did favors for; at least they were glad to see me. At least they wanted me; and I thought that was as good as it would ever get. I couldn’t believe that anyone would ever love me, except for mother; and if she knew the real me, she wouldn’t love me either.”

Jim struggled to find the right thing to say. “I know the real you, and I love you.”

“What if you fall out of love with me? There’re so many people who’d be better suited for you.” The look in Oswald’s eyes was one of pure misery. 

“Baby, I’m not going to fall out of love with you. And no one else can take your place, no matter who they were-they wouldn’t be you. You’re the one I want. The only one.”

A tear slid down Oswald’s cheek. “For how long? How long until you get tired of living with a criminal, and...”

“Stop it. You’ve got to have more faith in me than that. What if you get tired of living with a cop with a messiah complex? It’s ok to get tired, or fed up-it doesn’t mean one of us is going to abandon the other. We’re going to be all right, Oz.” Jim stroked his lover’s face. “Forgive me?”

“Yes. Just....hold me.”

Jim had no intention of letting go. Not tonight. Not ever.

____________

“I’m so glad you contacted us, Mr. McPherson. Although I still wonder how you knew we’d be interested in the information you spoke of.” The woman looked at her guest with the slightest air of disdain; as if she smelled something unpleasant, but was too polite to say so outright.

Jason Skolimsky set down his teacup and smiled. “Call me Mark, Mrs. Kean. And that’s what private investigators do-we figure things out. It doesn’t matter how I know that your daughter’s been lying to you. All that matters is that I do. So, I’ll tell you what I know-and if it’s worth it to you, you can pay me for the proof. Proof that’s guaranteed to stand up in court when you disinherit her.“

“Please continue.”

“ She’s been living with a policewoman- named Renee Montoya. They’re lovers; and what’s more her so-called fiancé is a homosexual who’s having an affair with a criminal. Her proposed marriage to James Gordon is nothing but a farce, designed to deceive you. Trust me.” Jason tilted his chin upwards. “Detective Gordon is a pervert of the lowest sort.”

Mrs. Kean made a face. “Disgusting. I suspected Barbara would return to her old ways, even after all the money we spent on therapy when she was a teenager. The moment I had an inkling that my daughter might be engaging in...depravity, with other girls; I sent her to the very best doctors. But she was stubborn, willful-I honestly don’t think she wanted to get well. I knew there was still something wrong with her; something unnatural. Her father and I are decent, normal people. We didn’t deserve this.”

She looked and sounded so much like Constance Van Groot, they could have been sisters. He imagined how it was going to feel to watch the bitch bleed out, all over that cream-colored sofa and the priceless Oriental rug it was sitting on. 

“When did you say Mr. Kean would be home?”

“Any moment now. Please make yourself at home; I have some things to attend to.” She paused on her way out of the room. “Mr. Kean will be delighted to hear what you have to say. Even though James seemed like such a clean-cut young man, my husband thought there was something “off” about him. “

Jason tapped his foot impatiently. He imagined Mr. Kean would be every bit as vindictive and condescending as his wife. He was going to make them pay, both of them; he was going to relish watching their smug expressions turn to terror when they realized what he was actually there for.

The best part of all was that Gordon would never see this coming. Barbara was being cautious; Jason couldn’t get near her. But no one had thought of warning Barbara’s parents about him. The police were idiots. Jason was smarter than Gordon, smarter than all of them.

It was going to be an exhilarating evening.

____________

Jim and Oswald were curled up together on their bed. The glow of a single bedside lamp lit the room. Reflected and re-reflected in the room’s mirrored walls and ceiling, the effect was that of a sparkling cascade of stars. 

Jim, who was nude, was enjoying the feel of Oz’s flannel pajamas against his skin.  
“You’re awfully snuggly like this; it’s kinda like hugging a stuffed toy. Still, I’d like to try talking you out of those pajamas.”

Oswald stuck his tongue out.

“Just for that, m’gonna kiss your freckles.” Jim loved Oz’s freckles; they’d appeared by the dozen after their last trip to the beach. He kissed his way up one cheek, across the bridge of Oz’s nose, and down the other; pausing to nibble at his lower lip. He then discovered that Oswald had unbuttoned the pajama top, so Jim could get at his neck and chest.

“Does this beautiful creature want his neck kissed?” 

“Oh, Officer.” Oswald fluttered his eyelashes. “Who knows where that trail of freckles might lead?”

He responded with such enthusiasm that Oswald gasped, arching his back to rub his body against Jim’s. He lingered over Oswald’s throat, sucking marks into the tender flesh, feeling the smaller man’s pulse against his lips. Working his way down, he discovered freckles in the most interesting places. Trying to lick the freckles off Oswald’s stomach proved to be very rewarding. Even more so, the freckles on the insides of his thighs; which became available because somewhere along the way, Ozzie had wriggled free of his pajama bottoms. Jim inhaled deeply, relishing the familiar taste and scent of Oz’s skin. 

Oswald reached down to run his slender fingers through Jim’s hair. “Detective...I believe there are an awful lot of suspicious freckles that need investigating, just a little to the right....”

“You mean here?” Jim asked in a tone of mock innocence, as he gently grasped the indicated part of Oswald’s anatomy. “I see what you mean; I’m going to have to be especially thorough.” The wet warmth of Jim’s mouth instantly elicited a long, drawn out moan from Oz, who tightened his grasp on Jim’s hair. 

Jim eagerly applied himself to the task of extracting more lascivious noises from Oswald, who couldn’t keep his hips still, couldn’t keep from shoving himself into Jim’s mouth. Jim held him down and licked the length of him, making eye contact; gratified by the hunger in his luminous blue-green eyes. He set the rhythm, slow at first, then letting Oz dictate the pace as he thrust faster and more forcefully into Jim’s throat. 

Jim glanced up to see himself, his head bobbing between Oswald’s legs; his lover’s pale, lithe body reflected in the room’s multiple mirrors. Oz’s head was thrown back; his eyes half shut, his body undulating. The sight nearly sent Jim over the edge. He could taste and feel Oz responding to him; the room seemed to recede; every sensation was heightened until his own growing excitement became almost unbearable. He felt feverish; consumed by pleasure so acute it became pain, and then came full circle back to the most exquisite pleasure. 

Oz seemed to be saying things that sounded like “James” and “please” and then he held his breath, exploding into Jim’s throat. Jim let him finish, before moving up to kiss him; he felt Oswald’s hands on him, and then time stopped; there was a perfect silence and the sensation of falling. For a moment he became everything and nothing; collapsing into his lover’s embrace; spilling onto his stomach.

Slowly, he came back to himself, to the awareness that Ozzie was holding him, nuzzling his neck. Oz still had on his pajama top; his damp bangs were plastered to his face.

“Dear God, Ozzie; you’re the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

“ I’ll bet you say that to all the penguins.”

Jim hugged him and whispered, “Nah, just you. You’re mine; and I’m never gonna let you go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Mirror is a 1946 American psychological/Noir/thriller directed by Robert Siodmak, about a beautiful, murderous psychopath and her twin. For me this references Jason’s broken/split personality. Jason poses as a private detective, using the name Mark McPherson; the detective protagonist of another film noir, the classic Laura. 
> 
> When Gertrud refers to Don Maroni as an “imbecil”, I picked an insult that means about the same thing in both Romanian and English. Gotham hasn’t specified Gertrud’s country of origin, but I imagine it to be Eastern European.


	22. Odds Against Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbara deals with her parents’ murder, as Jim and Harvey continue their quest to bring the Don Juan killer to justice. Jason targets Oswald.

Barbara stood by a window, watching rain slide down the glass; absent-mindedly twisting her hair with one graceful, beautifully manicured hand. She was vaguely aware that there were others in the condo: Renee had gone to the kitchen to make coffee; Oswald sat on a nearby sofa, anxiously watching her; Jim stood nearby, with his hands in his pockets.

Everything was silent. She seemed to be standing on the other side of the room, watching herself. For a moment, she was nowhere; then she inhabited her body again, but it felt awkward-like wearing a dress that was the wrong size. 

“This is my fault”. Jim was speaking; his voice sounding as if he was far away. “I never dreamed he’d go after your parents. I should have known; made sure they were protected.”

It took some effort, but she forced herself to focus. “Don’t say that. We broke up nearly a year ago; who knew he’d target someone from your past, much less someone as indirectly involved in your life as they were. I didn’t think of it either.”

She walked over to the sofa, and sat down beside Oswald, who held her hand. “I’m so sorry, Barbara.” She saw that his eyes were wet.

“I wish I could cry. Or scream, or throw things just to watch them break. But I don’t feel anything, except numb.” She brushed at some lint on her skirt. “I don’t think I’ve told you about how my parents sent me for shock treatments when I was a teenager. They thought that sending electricity through my skull would make me into who they wanted me to be. Or maybe they simply enjoyed hurting me, who knows. The doctors would put this thing in my mouth, and then put electrodes on my head., and I would....disappear. They emptied me out, and tried to fill me up with someone that wasn’t me.” 

She looked from Oswald to Jim. “Does it make me a bad person that I don’t feel anything? I don’t even feel especially sorry that they’re dead.”

“You’re not a bad person, you’re an angel.” Oswald put his arm around her; she laid her head on his shoulder.

“You’re both sweet, to be here for me.” She smiled up at Jim, then closed her eyes. 

She had to keep reminding herself to breathe.  
_______________

Jim climbed into the passenger’s seat of the blue sedan idling next to the entrance of “Oswald’s”. 

“Got your invitation to the Foxglove Club”. He passed Harvey an envelope, and took a long look at his usually scruffy partner, who sported an elegant suit and a neatly trimmed beard. “Gotta admit, you look almost presentable.” 

“Yeah, well, wonders never cease, do they? I never thought I’d see my favorite boy scout get the hang of roughin’ up lowlifes. But you done good with that pimp. He couldn’t talk fast enough about our boy Jason. ” 

Jim rubbed his hands over his face. “Just scared him a little.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, falling into a light sleep; the last few days had been exhausting. He snapped awake when Harvey stomped on the brakes, swearing at another driver. 

“Harvey?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you think about Len Moore and Tom Dougherty? It’s a strange coincidence, two uniforms disappearing off the face of the earth like that – and within a few days of each other.”

Harvey shrugged. “Hard to say. It don’t seem like either of our serial killers’ styles; maybe we got a third one on the loose, targeting cops. Or maybe they were in on somethin’ shady they shoulda stayed clear of. The whole city’s a powder keg, after what happened with Falcone trying to take out Maroni.”

Jim had his suspicions about the failed attempt on Maroni’s life, but he kept them to himself. Falcone reportedly believed that Maroni had staged the incident himself, as an excuse to start trouble. Fine. All Oswald had told him was that his plans to kill Maroni hadn’t worked out, and Jim had no intention of asking questions he didn’t want to know the answers to. He stared out the car window, thinking about Barbara’s parents. 

Harvey seemed to read his mind. “We’re gonna get Skolimsky, Jimbo. We’re gonna get the bastard.”

Jim hoped Harvey was right. He wanted Jason Skolimsky; he wanted to see him dead.  
_______________

Shortly after Jim and Harvey drove away, a brown van pulled up and parked outside of Oswald’s. A blonde, mustached man wearing faded jeans and a chambray work shirt, loaded up some boxes on a two-wheeler and knocked on the door. He was greeted by a grim faced young thug, who frisked him before allowing him to enter the club.

“You’re late.” Butch eyed the blonde. “And you’re not Joseph’s regular guy.”

“Rob’s sick. You want the stuff or not?” 

“Yeah, but I want a look at it first.” Butch opened the box on top, and extracted a bottle of scotch. “ Hey, you wanna help me sample this?”

Oswald, who was seated at he bar, looked up from a stack of receipts. “I’m sure Joseph knows better than to send me anything of inferior quality. But do, get out some glasses and we’ll drink to Joseph’s continued good health.”

After tasting the scotch, Oswald looked pleased. “Excellent! Vito, would you help this gentleman with the boxes?” The thug nodded, and began helping stack the boxes in a supply closet next to the bar. 

When they were finished, the blonde offered Oswald a clipboard. “Boss said you should sign for the delivery. An’ I got another dozen boxes in the van.”

Butch locked the supply closet while Oswald signed. “This is all we need here; Vito will assist you in putting the rest in storage, in the back.” 

Oswald and Butch sat down at a table. “You were right, Joseph’s a dream come true. He operates right under Maroni’s nose.”

“See?” Butch looked pleased with himself. “When have I ever given you bad advice?”

Oswald started to answer; but he suddenly felt dizzy. “Is it hot in here, or is it....me...” He clutched at his stomach, as he fell from his chair to the floor. His head was spinning; he couldn’t get up. The last thing he remembered seeing before he passed out was Butch-slumped over the table, with his eyes rolled back into his head.

The blonde man walked up to the table. “By the way, my name’s Jason. So glad you’re enjoying your drinks. Vito’s had an unfortunate accident, so I’m afraid he won’t be joining us.” He produced some cable ties, tied up both men and gagged them, then dragged Butch behind the bar. “And now, Mr. Cobblepot, we’re going on an excursion.” He picked Oswald up, and carried him out to the van. 

_______________

Jason’s home was spacious and elegant, the décor minimalist and modern. Everything was black and white, except for the obviously expensive artworks lining the walls. The condo was so perfectly styled, so clean and orderly-it seemed as if no one could have ever lived there. 

The words that came to Jim’s mind were “Cold” and “Soulless”. His mind kept returning to the parting words of the hostess at the Foxglove club; the only one of the Ogre’s victims to have escaped. “Do me a favor. When you find him, make sure you kill him.”

Harvey walked out of the bedroom. “All clear. Place gives me the creeps, it’s so damned sterile, it’s inhuman. Wonder what’s in here?”  
They entered the only room they hadn’t searched-and discovered a chamber of horrors. The room was outfitted with wall mounted glass cases that were filled with weapons, restraints, and obscenely sinister devices of all sorts. 

Jim flipped open a long, black wooden case that was sitting on a table. It contained more implements of torture, and photographs of 13 blindfolded women.

“Shit.” Harvey looked incredulous. “He may as well have left a signed confession for every one of those murders.”

They both jumped when the phone rang. Jim answered it. 

“Hello, Detective Gordon. Do you like my humble abode?”

“It’s over, Skolimsky. Do yourself a favor and turn yourself in.” Jim spoke carefully, keeping a grip on his anger. 

“No, I don’t think I will. I think I’ll stick to my original plan-to disappear and start over in some other fair city-now that you’ve ruined Gotham for me. But first, you and I must have closure. I warned you not to pursue me. Your boyfriend is about to pay the ultimate price for your recklessness. We’re at the docks, where you once spared his life. This time, he’s going to die.” 

Jason hung up.

The detectives left the condo, running, with Harvey yelling into his phone, calling for back up.

Jim drove like a madman. “We’re too far away”, he muttered as he grit his teeth. We’re not going to make it.”

_______________

It was dark, and his head hurt. A storm was coming; Oswald could hear the rumble of distant thunder.

Jason opened the back doors of the van. “Wake up, Mr. Cobblepot. You’re going to miss the fun.”

Oswald half-opened his eyes, fighting against the effects of the drugged drink. The world was fading in and out.

Jason brandished a gun. He smiled at Oswald’s feeble attempts to free himself. “It’ll be over for you very soon, I promise. Be grateful. Gordon’ll have to live with this for the rest of his life.”

As Oswald watched, Jason reached for him. 

A shadow seemed to come alive; a figure dressed in black grabbed Jason and pulled him away as easily as if he were weightless. He drug Jason to the end of the dock; Oswald heard the gun go off, three times; but the man in black had the better of Jason, and the gun fired uselessly over the water before Jason dropped it on the dock. 

A woman appeared, and bent over Oswald; she went through his pockets, until she found his knife. She walked up to where the man in black held Jason, and without a word, flicked the knife open and calmly slashed Jason’s throat. She dropped the knife next to Jason’s gun, as the man in black stepped back, allowing the dying man to fall. He made a few gurgling noises before he lay still, in a pool of his own blood.

“We’re friends, here to rescue you.” The woman removed the gag, clipped the ties that bound Oswald’s wrists. “Let me help you out of this jacket”. She pulled his jacket off, then untied his shoes and slid them off his feet. 

Oswald, still groggy, was confused. “But I don’t ........”

The woman walked away, as the man snapped handcuffs on Oswald’s wrists. She flung the jacket, and the shoes, into the water. “Don’t be frightened. We’re going to take care of you.” The man gently lifted Oswald out of the van. The woman joined them, as the man carried Oswald to a car parked at the other end of the dock. As they lay him in the back seat, he felt himself falling away, sinking back into a drugged slumber. His last conscious thought was that both of his saviors were wearing highly peculiar looking masks.

_______________

The blue sedan screeched to a stop. The first thing Jim saw was Renee, kneeling by a body at the end of the pier, while Crispus Allen examined the interior of a brown van. 

Renee stood up when she saw Jim and Harvey. “It’s your perp, wearing a blonde wig. The gun’s been fired; do you recognize the knife?”

Jim swallowed. “It looks like Oswald’s.”

“I haven’t made sense of it, yet.” Renee spoke softly. “It may be that there was a struggle; Oswald may have gotten the better of Skolimsky, but then fell into the water. There’s no sign of him.”

Crispus walked over to the group. “I found this in the floor of the van.” He held up an evidence bag containing the gold pocket watch Jim had given Oswald for Christmas. 

Jim stared at the watch. He was too fast for the others to stop him; he leapt off the end of the dock, and plunged into the choppy waters, just as the storm broke. He dived, again and again, yelling Oswald’s name each time he surfaced. Finally, as he was nearing exhaustion, he surfaced next to a small boat; and felt himself being pulled out of the water. 

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Harvey shouted over the noise of the thunder. “It’s too damn dark to see anything down there.” He threw a blanket around Jim’s shoulders.  
“Let these guys do their job. Drowning yourself isn’t going to help.” 

Jim was shaking. Harvey knew it wasn’t just from the cold; the poor guy was out of his mind with worry. He kept an arm around Jim’s shoulders, and hoped Jim found it comforting. If he didn’t, too freakin’ bad. He didn’t plan to give Jim another chance to throw himself in the water.

In his heart, Harvey felt it was probably too late anyway. He didn’t expect he’d ever see Oswald again-at least, not alive.

_______________

Renee and Crispus sat inside their car, as rain pounded the docks. Jason’s body had been removed, as had the van. “Good thing we got here early to bag ‘n tag, before the deluge started. I wonder if we’ll get a thank you card from forensics?”

“Dunno.” Renee was staring straight ahead; she hadn’t said two words during the last two hours.

Crispus was tired, and curious. “I’m also wondering why Sarah pulled strings to get two boats from Harbor Patrol down here searching for a snitch that’s almost certainly dead.” From where they were parked, he could see the searchlights playing over the water. 

“He didn’t die the last time he got thrown in the river.” 

“He didn’t actually get shot the last time.” Crispus examined Renee’s unreadable expression. “Most of all, I’m wondering- why’re we still here? What aren’t you telling me? I’ve got this feeling that I’m the odd man out.” He spoke quietly; there was no edge in his voice. He knew Renee well enough to be able to tell when she was upset. 

“You know I trust you. But I don’t have the right to trust you with somebody else’s business.” Renee looked as miserable as he’d ever seen her. “You can go; take the car. I need to stay, and I may be here all night.” 

“Because Jim’ll be here all night? Don’t look surprised. I may be foggy on the details, but if I was a complete idiot, you wouldn’t have me as a partner.” It was a relief when she smiled. “Let’s at least go get coffee; we can bring back extras.”

Renee was, apparently, good at predicting the future. It was first light when she saw Jim and Harvey walking towards them. She got out of the car to meet them. Harvey shook his head, warning her away. Jim’s eyes were dull; he was clearly in shock. 

No one said another word. The two cars drove away, as a pale light began to illuminate the deserted docks. The water kept its secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Odds Against Tomorrow is a 1959 Film Noir starring Harry Belafonte; the plot is a variation on the theme of “the perfectly planned crime gone bad.” I felt this was appropriate; Jason was a master at planning his crimes, but in the end his downfall was the wild card he couldn’t have planned for. 
> 
> The events in this chapter take place around the same time frame as episodes 20-21-22, but I’m altering the continuity to fit my story.


	23. The Web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald is imprisoned by his peculiar captors. Len Moore’s drug-induced affliction precipitates a startling chain of events. Jim must cope with not knowing if Oswald is dead or alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events in this chapter take place around the same time frame as episodes 20-21-22, but I’m altering the continuity to fit my story. The bogus attempt on Maroni’s life has taken place, and Jason Skolimsky’s dead, but the gang war won’t erupt for a while yet. 
> 
> The Web is a 1947 black-and-white film noir directed by Michael Gordon and starring Ella Raines, Edmond O'Brien, William Bendix and Vincent Price. The plot involves an intricate web of deception, frame-ups and double crosses galore. 
> 
> In the “older” comics, pre “New-52”, Jim Gordon was portrayed as a chain smoker.

Oswald opened his eyes. His first thought was that he’d never seen so many stars; the sky was full of them, handfuls of diamonds strewn across a backdrop of black velvet. Wherever he was, it was outdoors; away from the familiar glow of the city. He felt himself being carried; caught a glimpse of woods, and a three story house that might have been new when Queen Victoria sat on England’s throne. The man in black, who wore a half mask made of fabric, followed the blonde woman into the house, with Oswald in his arms. They ascended the stairs. The man placed Oswald on a twin bed, in an alcove at one end of a small room. 

He sat up, and watched the man and woman exit the room, shutting the door behind them. The door was a formidable metal contraption of thick bars that slammed shut with a loud clang. The man vanished, but the woman lingered outside the door, watching Oswald through the eyeholes of the flesh colored plastic mask that covered most of her face. After a moment, she tossed a key through the bars that landed at his feet. He used it to free his hands.

“Please place the key and handcuffs in the drawer of the writing desk. We’ll use them if we have to enter your apartment while you’re here.” 

“Who are you?”

“ Zorah.”

“You certainly didn’t hesitate to cut Jason Skolimsky’s throat. What do you want with me?”

“Mr. Skolimsky was a murderer of innocents. As for you, we mean you no harm. I’ll explain it all in detail, later; the short version is, we needed to remove you from Gotham for a period of time. It was our good fortune that Mr. Skolimsky made it simple for us. When the time comes, we’ll release you, to resume your life as you see fit.” She gestured at the room. “For now, feel free to explore your temporary home. In addition to this room, there’s a kitchenette, a bathroom, and a dressing room. We’re treating you as a guest rather than a prisoner. Should you cause problems, or attempt to escape, you’ll find yourself in a cage in the basement, with a toilet, a sink, no windows, and a concrete floor to sleep on.”

She closed a wooden door outside the metal one. 

Oswald took deep breaths, willing himself to remain calm. He seemed to be in no immediate danger, and he’d managed to survive worse situations with no weapon other than his wits. He made a quick survey of his prison: The main room contained a writing desk and chair, with a gooseneck lamp; and a small sofa facing a bureau, on which was placed a television. To the right of the sofa was the door to the apartment; to the left, a window with bars. There was no door between the main room and the narrow kitchenette, which was located to the right of the bureau and featured a well-stocked fridge and a stacking washer/dryer. To the left of the bureau was the “dressing room”, also doorless: in it was another barred window, some exercise equipment, a bookcase, and a closet. Finally, off the dressing room was a bathroom.

His captors seemed to have given some thought to providing for his needs. The bookcase held sketchbooks and art supplies; a few books and discs of classic films. There were cleaning supplies and dishes in the kitchenette; towels and toiletries in the bathroom. In the closet hung several pairs of gray sweatpants, tee shirts, and a hoody. The bureau drawers contained plain white cotton socks and underwear, a pair of pale blue flannel pajamas, and blue terrycloth slippers. 

The fact that all the clothing was in his size, meant they’d been planning to abduct him long before Jason had drugged him and kidnapped him from the club. They’d made sure to take his shoes, leaving him with only a pair of slippers, so that even if he could escape-he’d have a difficult time getting away. He turned out all the lights and went to the larger window; found he could reach through the bars and open it. The house sat in a clearing, but the surrounding area was heavily forested. There were no sounds, save for a few crickets; not even a dog barking, or a single light, to suggest the presence of neighbors. 

He hung his suit-minus the missing jacket- in the closet, showered, and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a tee before giving in to fatigue and lying down. He missed the comforting warmth of Jim’s arms, wondered where Jim was and what he was doing. 

When he slept, his dreams were of dark woods; of being pursued by faceless hunters, and hounds with mouths dripping foam and blood.

____________

The man in black stood outside the cage in the basement with a syringe. Len Moore, dirty and disheveled, was sound asleep on his cot. 

“The drugs in his food will keep him unconscious for a few hours.” The blonde woman unlocked the cage door. “Dr. Crane’s serum will have him in its grip when he wakes up. I believe I found more than enough of it in Crane’s house before the police searched it.”

The man jabbed the needle in Len’s arm. It was time to carry out the next part of their plan.

____________

Harvey stretched, telling himself that it somehow helped his aching back. His feet hurt, he was starving, and he needed a drink. “Jim. Listen to me, we’ve grilled every homeless person, hooker, and hustler for miles around. No one saw anything.”

“Someone saw something.” Jim clenched his jaw. “Someone always does.”

“Maybe so,” Harvey agreed. “But we ain’t gonna find ‘em today, not like this. We’re both gonna drop dead if we don’t stop and rest.” 

When they finally got to a diner to eat, Jim stared at his food as if it was poisoned. “Why didn’t I protect him? Skolimsky killed Barbara’s parents and got to Oswald before I knew what was happening. What’s wrong with me?”

“You’re not God, believe it or not. Nobody can foresee the future, not even you, and if you don’t eat you’re gonna pass out and then that’s what’ll be wrong with you. So eat.” Harvey inhaled his food and ordered dessert; but before it arrived his phone buzzed.

“Shit.” Harvey answered the phone. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll be right there, thanks.” He handed the waitress a credit card. “Good news. They got the Death Angel cornered in some fleabag hotel downtown.”

Harvey drove; Jim was silent, staring at nothing.

Harvey was sure Oswald was dead; Jim just couldn’t deal with it yet. As sorry as he felt for his partner, a part of him was secretly glad that the Penguin was gone. He saw the relationship as something that dragged Jim down, screwed up his life. 

At the Arcadia Hotel, uniforms were evacuating the building; sex workers and junkies scattered haphazardly, paying zero attention to the directions of the irate officers. Sarah was yelling orders; there were men with rifles on the roof next door, zeroing in on an eighth floor corner room. 

“Hotel clerk called.” She anticipated Jim’s questions. “Said there was somebody going nuts in 813, screaming about demons, shooting up the place. One of our guys up there with binoculars got a look in the window; the suspect fits the description we got from the attack on Cindy Bertolucci. He also said the man looks a lot like Len Moore. No hostages, he’s in there alone. But he’s got plenty of ammo, and we’ve got about an hour of daylight left.”

“Len Moore?” Jim was incredulous. “He’s just some average jerk. This can’t be right.” He took a few steps towards the building, frowning. “Tell the snipers to stand down; we want him alive. I’m gonna try to talk him down.”

Sarah nodded, and Jim ran into the building, followed by Harvey; whose complaints were, as usual, ignored. A uniform led them up a stairwell that stank of urine and body odor. The top of the stairs opened onto a hallway two doors down from the room Len was in. Halfway up, Jim could hear incoherent shrieking, punctuated by gunfire. “Every so often, he shoots through the door,” the uniformed cop offered.

Jim called Sarah. “In two minutes, I want one of the snipers to shoot into the room, but not at the suspect. Get his attention, then pause so he can return fire. I’m going to use the noise as cover to get through the door.” He turned to Harvey. “Cover me, as much as you can.”

Harvey started to speak; Jim was already at the door, kicking it open.

Len crouched in a corner, looking at Jim, his mouth frozen open in an expression of terror. 

“Hey, Len.” Jim spoke softly, smiling, inching closer. “What’s the matter? You need some help, buddy?”

Tears ran down Len’s swollen face. He took his pistol, and slowly pointed it at his own head. “You’re so tiny,” he sobbed. “But I won’t let you crawl inside my bones.”

Harvey entered slowly, his gun raised. Len looked at him for a second, long enough for Jim to throw himself on Len and grab the pistol. Len howled, his body convulsing. It took both of them to hold him down until the paramedics got there and took him away, still screeching at things no one else could see.

“Detectives, take a look in here.” Sarah was standing in the bathroom door. In the bathtub was a man’s body; the face had been removed, and a bloody straight razor lay on the tiled floor. 

____________

The next morning, Jim stepped outside into the foul-smelling, muggy alley behind the precinct house. It suited him just fine. The other choice was to be inside at Commissioner Loeb’s photo shoot for the Gotham Gazette, celebrating the GCPD’s success at ending the “reign of terror” of two ongoing serial killers.

He lit up a cigarette, just as Harvey joined him. 

“The party’s kinda small. Leslie’s barricaded herself in the morgue, nobody knows where Montoya and Allen are, and Eddie’s right behind me.”

Eddie appeared, nodding enthusiastically. “Dr. Thompkins said that Commissioner Loeb is mistaken in his belief that he has the right to utilize her posterior for the purpose of anal penetration.”

Harvey snickered. “I knew there was a reason I liked that woman.” 

“There’s more.” Eddie rubbed his hands together, grinning manically. “You know the espresso machine that was donated to the break room? Before Commissioner Loeb got here, I made a special latte for him- with syrup of ipecac!” 

“Eddie, there’s hope for you yet.” Harvey eyed Jim. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“Quit when I left the army. Seemed like a good time to start again.” Jim took another drag. “What does Forensics make of the scene at the Arcadia?”

“That body at the hotel. It was Tony Baldinitti. The body had been obviously been stored in a freezer, and the blood on the razor was Officer Moore’s blood.” Eddie was wound up; he couldn’t seem to talk fast enough. “Dr. Thompkins examined him at the hospital, and he had a variety of drugs in his system: including what she thinks is Dr. Crane’s fear serum. She can’t say when, or if, he’ll be able to respond to questioning.”

“The whole thing’s a set-up. Len Moore isn’t the Angel of Death. He’s a patsy, that’s obvious; but Loeb wants the case closed, because that’s good PR, and Sarah has to go along with it.” Jim scowled. “The irony is, we didn’t catch either killer. All we did with Skolimsky was to find his dead body; and the Death Angel’s still out there.”

Harvey looked perplexed. “So why go to all this trouble to frame Len?” 

“Maybe to make Loeb look bad. Think about it from the killer’s point of view.” Eddie chimed in. “If more murders take place after Loeb announces the killer’s been caught, it makes it obvious that the city officials are self-serving idiots. That’d tie in with being a vigilante; he’s justifying what he does, proving that Gotham needs him. And maybe it’s a challenge-to see if any of us are smart enough- or defiant enough- to keep pursuing the case.”

“Officially, there’s no investigation; it’s over. But let me talk to Gino, over at Vice, about the current state of affairs at Crucifixxx. When we profiled the Death Angel-we said he was trying to point us in the direction of somebody big, somebody in a position of real power that needs to be taken down. Maybe we can still find a way to do that.” Jim squared his shoulders and walked back inside, followed by the others.

They were in time to see Commissioner Loeb being assisted out of the building. The photo shoot had been cut short after he suddenly puked all over Sarah’s shoes.

____________

It’d been another fruitless day of searching. No witnesses, no leads, no clues. Oswald had been gone for 48 hours. Jim had pushed himself to the point of exhaustion, and was so burned out he couldn’t think straight. 

At the door of his apartment, he hesitated. Every time he came home, he felt a surge of adrenalin. Maybe he’d open the door, and Oswald would be there. Safe, unharmed, with an explanation for what’d happened.

Every time, the apartment was empty.

 

He went to the answering machine. No messages. The thought of a stiff drink was appealing, but Leslie had given him a prescription for Restoril and he didn’t want to start mixing poisons. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right-he needed to sleep, before he drove himself into another breakdown.

Like the one he had after Donnie died.

He sat on the sofa with his head in his hands, until the phone rang. The front desk informed him that his visitor had arrived. 

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

“Hello, Jim.”

Victor walked in and casually sat down in an overstuffed chair- as if it was a perfectly normal, everyday occurrence, for him to visit someone he’d once shot nearly to death.

Jim rubbed his eyes. “Have you found out anything?” He sat down, wearily, on a chair opposite his guest. 

“ Nothing concrete. But let me start by showing you what happened when Oswald was kidnapped. I have equipment at the club, recording everything 24/7.” He pulled a flash drive out of his pocket, and handed it to Jim, who plugged it into his laptop. “Here.” Victor pointed. The deliveryman is putting something in Butch and Oswald’s drinks. Then he leaves with Vito; when he comes back, they’re unconscious; he ties them up. Stop here. Notice how he ties Oswald’s hands with a cable tie.”

Jim struggled to keep his feelings under control. “What about it?”

“The only thing the Harbor Patrol’s found is the jacket Oswald was wearing, correct? The jacket we see him wearing in this video. No bullet holes, no bloodstains. For that jacket to be taken off, or come off-Oswald’s hands had to be untied. And if he cut Skolimsky’s throat, it’s a safe bet he was standing up, and his feet were untied also.”

Victor sat back and continued. “He may or may not have been wounded, but if he went into the water and drowned, where’s the body? If he swam to safety, he would have contacted you, and he hasn’t. A third possibility is that he never fell into the water, at all; that he left with, or was taken, by some unknown third party.”

“What about Don Maroni?” Jim could barely bring himself to say the words.

“No. I have sources. Maroni’s keenly interested, and extremely disappointed that no body’s been found-but he has nothing to do with this. Falcone, on the other hand, has been acting strangely. He didn’t seem surprised by the news of what happened. He became pensive, went out and spent hours with his pet chickens. He’s been moody, subdued, brooding. He keeps asking if a body’s been found, and when the answer is still ‘no’, he becomes agitated. He even sent some of his own people out to search. Most peculiar of all, he’s started talking about retirement again. I suspect he knows something, but I haven’t been able to deduce what.”

Jim said nothing; reached for the lighter that was lying next to an already overflowing ashtray, lit up another cigarette.

Victor, too, was silent for a few minutes. “The best evidence that Oswald’s still alive, is the complete lack of evidence that he’s not.”

“Thanks.”

“You mustn’t give up hope. I want Oswald found as much as you do-for different reasons, of course. When Falcone’s gone- well.” Victor smiled; the effect was sinister. “You know how nature abhors a vacuum. Maroni’s not intelligent enough to take over, he’ll be dead soon anyway. The less powerful families will squabble like jackals over what Falcone leaves behind, unless someone with ironclad determination steps in and takes over. It’s not a role I’m suited for, but Oswald...let’s just say I’m good at picking winners.”

Victor stood. “I’ll be in touch.”

Jim let him out, and locked the door behind him. Zsasz gave him the creeps, but he was desperate enough to accept help from anyone, even that “undead lookin’ mutherfucker”, as Harvey called him. 

In the bedroom, Jim undressed slowly. He felt all of several hundred years old. Dinner consisted of a glass of orange juice and two of the pills Leslie’d prescribed. He lay down, hugging Oswald’s bathrobe, burying his face in it, inhaling the scent of Oswald’s cologne.


	24. So Dark the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald finds out why he’s being held prisoner, and why the “Angel of Death” has come to Gotham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: For anyone who’s easily triggered-there are oblique references to past abuse and underage sex.

Oswald reached for the alarm clock, to shut off the infernal buzzing that indicated it would soon be dawn. He made the bed, then opened the windows so he could spread birdseed on the windowsills. His avian visitors were one of his few pleasures; some of the “regulars” were on the verge of becoming tame.

It was part of the daily routine he’d established for himself. To ward off depression, he kept busy: Eating, washing dishes, exercising, reading, journaling, drawing, watching movies; staring out the window while trying to come up with an escape plan. In the evenings, he indulged in luxuriously long, hot baths while daydreaming about Jim and imagining Jim was in the tub with him. 

Every afternoon, Zorah came to Oswald’s “apartment” to pick up the trash, and, sometimes, to drop off groceries. She filled his requests for movies and books, and had even brought the birdseed he’d asked for. Everything was passed through a grate in the metal door. She always stayed and talked with Oswald for a while. Since it was the only contact he was allowed with another human being, he began looking forward to her visits, despite his anger at being imprisoned. They talked about birds, botany, art, music- anything and everything except why he’d been abducted.

By his reckoning, he’d been there for three weeks.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” She was seated in a folding chair, on the landing outside the metal door. As always, she wore her grotesque plastic mask. 

He snapped at her before his better judgment caught up with his mouth. “You can tell me why I’m being forced to endure your ‘hospitality.”

“Very well. I suppose we do owe you an explanation.” She looked at him intently. “Did you know that approximately five per cent of the population commits one hundred per cent of all crime? Think of how the world – not to mention, the gene pool- could be improved if that five per cent were to be eliminated. Now imagine an association of like minded people, determined to destroy as much evil as possible.” Her enthusiasm was unmistakable.

“I take it you belong to such a group.”

“Yes, as does Rasul. We maintain a presence in the places that need us most, doing our good deeds in secret, in the service of humanity.”

Oswald raised one eyebrow. “If murder qualifies as a good deed, I know a lot of Saints. Your mention of the gene pool seems to reference an interest in eugenics, so it’s no wonder you work in secret.”

“Nazi Germany gave eugenics a bad name. Their version was based on religious and ethnic prejudices, racism, homophobia, anti-Semitism; it was illogical and unscientific. All civilized people, on the other hand, tend to agree about what constitutes violent crime- murder, rape, assault. The world’s better off without violent criminals.”

“I see. Is Rasul the Angel of Death, then? He fits the description.”

Zorah laughed heartily. “We both find that moniker to be melodramatic in the extreme. But, yes, Rasul has dispatched a number of evildoers in Gotham. Pedophiles, child pornographers, child murderers, adults who forced children into prostitution and even sold them as slaves. We’re proud of our work.” Her eyes blazed; she took a moment to compose herself. “But that was never Rasul’s primary purpose here. He came to Gotham to determine if James Gordon is worthy of being invited to join our cause.”

“You can’t actually believe that James would join your ...your.... cult!” Oswald spluttered. “James is no vigilante, he operates within the confines of the law!”

“Don’t look so indignant, Oswald. We know all about his past. He’s more than capable of doing something distasteful when the need arises, that’s not the issue. “ She paused, looking thoughtful. “The issue is you. Until he had you in his life, he didn’t have anything to lose. No beloved spouse; no children; no one, except perhaps his siblings; but they’re not an intimate part of his daily life, his world here. His “mission” to save Gotham is a worthy one- but, in truth, the mission can only become meaningful through giving up personal happiness. That’s the paradox; you can’t put your own happiness aside until you taste happiness; you can’t sacrifice nothing, you have to have something to let go of. Then you can sacrifice. Then you can truly dedicate yourself to a mission. We’re going to find out if Jim has that in him. He needs to think that you’re dead. So that now that he’s been with you, he can find out who he is without you, and so can we. Our final act will be to reunite the two of you; and demand that he make a choice. It’s simple, really.” She stood up and pushed the chair aside. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Is there anything else?”

“No.” Oswald regained his composure. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

After she left, he began pacing up and down. In his humble opinion, Zorah and Rasul belonged in Arkham Asylum; but was it possible their offer might be attractive to Jim? How did they know about his past? Why did they target Jim in the first place?

He needed to calm down. He picked up one of his sketchbooks, which he’d been filling with colored pencil drawings of Jim. 

Oswald worked furiously on the drawings. He closed his eyes from time to time, visualizing Jim’s face. He wanted to get it down on paper as fast as he could-before he had a chance to forget anything. If he tried hard enough, he could feel Jim’s face under his fingertips; as if his hands had stored away memories, and the memories were pouring out onto the pages of the sketchbook. The shades of blonde in Jim’s hair, the way it would flop over his forehead when he needed a haircut; and the laugh lines around his beautiful eyes. 

The drawings weren’t perfect, but they were close. He sat the sketchbook on the desk; gently; as if it was like his memories-fragile, precious. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

He heard someone screaming; and then realized it was him, he was screaming, clutching the bars at the window; screaming as loudly as he could, screaming for help, screaming incoherently; pleading for someone, anyone, to hear him; yelling and screaming until nothing was coming out except a rasping noise.

He had no idea how long he’d been screaming, but he’d managed to make himself so hoarse, he was unable to make another sound. 

He lay face down on the bed and wept.

____________

Three days later, Oswald received a different visitor.

The man in the black mask arrived in place of Zorah. He opened the wooden door and stood there silently, observing Oswald; who met his gaze unflinchingly. The man’s eyes were an extraordinary shade of green.

Oswald was the first to speak. “Well? Are you just going to stare at me?” 

“I see that captivity hasn’t broken your spirit. You’re resilient; that’s an admirable quality. Zorah tells me you’re intelligent-it’s a shame you waste your strengths on petty criminal activities.”

“Thanks for the flattery, but there’s nothing petty about me.” Oswald shot back.

“ I wanted to meet the man Jim Gordon picked as a companion. You’ll have to pardon me, but you seem an unlikely choice.”

“How’s that any of your business? James and I love and need each other. Perhaps what we share is something you can’t comprehend.”

“You need him; but he doesn’t need you. He wants you. There’s a difference.” Rasul frowned. “Maybe he thinks he can reform you. In any case, in time, he would have grown tired of you. He could easily find someone better suited for him.”

Oswald swallowed his anger. “Being with James has made me a better person. We have a common goal, making Gotham a better place; we’re working together.”

“The miracle is that you haven’t dragged him down, and changed him for the worse. At least, I doubt that you have. I’m going to find out.” Rasul spoke calmly, in a matter of fact manner, with no trace of malice in his voice. 

“What gives you the right to play God with our lives?”

“Haven’t you played God often enough, deciding who should live and who should die?” He took note of Oswald’s expression. “I see you get my point. While I’m here, I wanted to compliment you on making a wise choice. You haven’t tried to escape. It would be a waste of time; the walls, floor, and ceiling have been carefully reinforced. I’m also impressed that you haven’t attempted to kill yourself.”

“You needn’t sound so disappointed. Cheer up, a few more visits from you and I might give it a try. No wonder they call you the Angel of Death.” Oswald’s eyes glittered with rage.

Rasul chuckled. “Zorah was right, you can be amusing. As for suicide, we left it up to you. No doubt you’ve noticed this is an unusual prison. We’ve given you any number of ways to end your life, should you choose to do so. We won’t harm you, but we won’t rescue you should you harm yourself.”

“Your concern is touching. Lucky me. Suppose James tracks you down? I’m certain he’s been searching for me, and I know him- he won’t give up.”

“You may be right.” The man shrugged. “We shall see.”  
Rasul turned and shut the wooden door behind him.

Oswald lay on the sofa, his hands over his eyes. He knew Rasul was right; he was bad for Jim, wrong for him in so many ways. He knew Jim’s life could go on without him, and Jim would probably be better off.

His mind wandered. There was something about Rasul he couldn’t put his finger on. His speech; there was the trace of an accent of some kind - a regional accent, not a foreign one.

He found himself thinking of his life with Jim; how happy he’d been. He’d always been afraid it wouldn’t last, that something would go wrong. 

He started thinking about the things that happened when he was a teenager. How horrified he’d been at first, when he found out what he’d have to do to get work. How he’d learned to make the men, most of them old enough to be his father, favor him over the other boys. How he’d learned to please them, to act like he enjoyed what they wanted him to do. How he’d told himself it wasn’t so bad, he could deal with it.

When he was sixteen, he’d met Rick. Rick wasn’t like the other gangsters; he was younger, just twenty-two. Rick was handsome, a head-turner; and he was easy-going, funny, everybody liked him. He remembered the first thing Rick ever said to him: “C’mere. You’re a cute little guy, ain’cha?” Oswald had blushed, and Rick had laughed at him. For the next year, Oswald didn’t have to have anything to do with any of the other men. Rick protected him; and when Rick touched him, when Rick kissed him- it felt real. The things he did with Rick, he did because he wanted to. He learned how to honestly enjoy something that had seemed like a chore. 

When he finally got up the nerve to say, “I love you,” Rick had said it back. Oswald hadn’t realized it was possible to be so happy. 

One night Rick had asked him how he’d like to have his own apartment; Oswald couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He thought Rick meant the two of them would live there, together, be together forever. 

Two days later, he went to the warehouse where he always met Rick. One of the other men told him Rick was dead. Something had gone wrong with a job, and a cop had shot Rick. It was a shame, the man said. But the big boss was gonna see to it that Rick’s wife and kids were taken care of.

The wife and kids Rick had never mentioned to Oswald. 

Oswald had fled, gone home, and told his mother he was ill. He stayed away from school, from work, for three days, crying. 

Once he stopped crying, he never went back to school. But he went back to work, because he had to. He put one foot in front of another, because he had to. He survived. Years later, he’d attended adult night school and gotten a high school diploma. Not that he needed it; somehow, it felt wrong not to have one.

He hadn’t thought of Rick in a long time. Rick, who’d been a liar. Jim was different, he could trust Jim, they loved each other and that was never going to change. Jim wouldn’t leave Oswald, not for anyone, certainly not for some ridiculous cult. 

Would he?

That night before he went to bed, Oswald did what he did every night. He turned out all the lights and stood at the open window, gripping the bars; looking and listening. Every night the woods were the same as they were the night before - completely dark, and utterly silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Dark the Night is a 1946 American film noir directed by Joseph H. Lewis. It had neither big stars nor a big budget, but has become a much loved cult classic. The film explores the idea that a person capable of great good may also be capable of great evil; that life, and the human condition, is everything except simple.
> 
> The name Zorah means “Dawn”. The name Rasul means “Messenger”.
> 
> The events in this chapter take place around the same time frame as episodes 20-21-22, but I’m altering the continuity to fit my story. The bogus attempt on Maroni’s life has taken place, and Jason Skolimsky’s dead, but the gang war won’t erupt for a while yet. 
> 
> Re: A discussion I encountered on Tumblr. I do welcome constructive criticism, should anyone wish to offer some.


	25. Detective Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim works with Vice on an undercover operation. Sarah and Harvey show concern for Jim’s state of mind. Selina closes in on the Aerialist.

Cindy Bertolucci had been home for maybe thirty minutes when there was a knock at her apartment door. She picked up her gun, and peered out the peephole at the two men in the hallway.

After opening the door a few inches, she shook her head at a baby-faced, slender young man. “Damnit, Joey, it’s three in the morning. Whatever it is, can’t it wait?” Cindy was barefoot, wearing a hot pink floral bathrobe, and not in the mood for company.

“It’s important, Cindy.”

“Whatever. C’mon in.” She looked Joey’s companion up and down. “ You’re one of the detectives that was here after the serial killer broke in.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jim was wearing jeans and a ball cap. “I need your help.”

The trio sat down in Cindy’s living room. When she produced a cigarette, Jim lit it for her, then proceeded to light up one of his own.

“You’re a regular gentleman.” She exhaled, and the smoke lingered in gray tendrils around her face. “So, what’s this about?”

“The Angel of Death. Police Commissioner Loeb claims we caught him; we didn’t. We found someone who fits the description, drugged out of his mind, in a hotel room with a body. But he’s not the killer. Our Medical Examiner, our forensics team, the detectives working the case-we all agree that the real killer is still out there.” 

“Why am I not surprised, and what is it you think I can help with?”

Joey spoke up. “I told Jim you’re a smart lady. “First Love” is about to go under. The killings have done more than terrify the employees. The investors-the people you never see -are nervous. So nervous that we’re guessing they’re ready to cut their losses, literally. You think they’re gonna offer you severance pay? They’re gonna kill anybody who knows too much about the operation. Meanwhile, the serial killer’s still out there, planning who knows what.” 

She tilted her head to one side, studying Joey. “So you’re a cop, too, and your real name is probably Walter, or some such shit. Meaning if nothing else goes wrong, you and whoever else’s been undercover is going to make a buttload of trouble. Nice. I’m pretty much screwed, no matter what.”

“Unless you accept our offer. Work with us, and we’ll help you start over somewhere else. Chicago, Las Vegas, Los Angeles-you name it. New Identity. Fresh start. Beats the alternative.” Jim smiled-persuasively, he hoped. “You got any family?”

“No, it’s just me. Why? You gonna kill me yourselves, disappear the body?”

“No, but we’ll make it look like the serial killer did. I have a friend; you can stay at her apartment. All you have to do is hide out there while we start rumors that the killer came back and took you. We’ll arrange for someone to phone in an anonymous tip that you’ve vanished; the police will show up here, find evidence of a struggle. Then we wait-for the investors to panic, or the killer to re-surface, or both. When the time comes, we’ll have a “sister” show up to claim your belongings, close your accounts. Then we’ll smuggle you out of town.” Jim sat back, giving her time to think.

She went into the kitchen, came back with a bottle and three glasses. “Anybody else need a drink? Y’ know, what really chaps my ass is that I worked all my life to get where I am. And some freak in a mask comes along and ruins everything for me, in just a few months.”  
____________

“Jim! Get in here, please. You too, Harvey.” Sarah sounded pissed. Gino Cincinelli was already seated in her office; he and Jim exchanged looks while Sarah crossed her arms and glared at them. 

“So.” She picked up a newspaper. “Who wants to be the first to explain this?” The headline read: ‘The Angel of Death-Still at Large?’ 

Gino glared back at her. “Vice may not be as big a deal as Homicide or Major Crimes, but we work our asses off, just like you do. Loeb declares the homicide investigation’s over? Fine. Ours is still ongoing. We still got kiddie porn and human trafficking to deal with.”

“And just how does this,” she shook the paper, “further your investigation?”

“Sarah, you know I can’t talk about it. Besides, if it all hits the fan, it’s better if you can honestly say you didn’t know anything about this.”

“Fine, Gino. I’m sure Loeb’ll believe me, since he’s such a trusting, big-hearted guy.”

She turned to Jim and Harvey. “Do you need to be re-assigned to Vice, because Homicide cases no longer interest you?”

“We’re working our cases, Captain. If we fraternize with our fellow officers from Vice after hours-it’s purely for recreational purposes.” Jim managed to say it as if it were actually true. “After all, I’m president of the Police Union. Shouldn’t I try to get to know the people I represent?”

“When this thing goes sideways, it’s going to make an ungodly mess.” Sarah scowled. “I’ll be there to say ‘I told you so’ when we’re all collecting unemployment.”

As the men were filing out, Sarah stopped Harvey. “A word? In private.” She shut the door behind Jim and Gino. “In a perverse way, I’m happy about this ‘Hail Mary’ Gino’s pulling. It may get us fired, but at least it’s got Jim involved in something besides compulsively searching for non-existent clues that Oswald’s alive.”

“ So you think Cobblepot’s dead?”

“I don’t know what else to think. It’s been what, six weeks? Jim’s lost weight, he’s living on coffee and nicotine; I’m worried about him.” She pulled open a desk drawer, and fished around in her purse. “Here’s some coupons, two for one dinner specials at that new restaurant down the street- Café Havana, maybe you can get him to eat something.”

“Thanks, Sarah. I’m worried about him, too.” Harvey looked at his feet. “There’s something else. At the hotel, the way he charged into that room - he was reckless. Not brave, reckless. It’s a miracle Len didn’t kill him. ” He met Sarah’s eyes, as if hoping for answers.

“Keep an eye on him, Harvey. Jim needs his friends right now, all of us. We can’t stop him from hurting, but we can be there for him.”

“Yeah. I just hope it’s enough.”  
____________

Café Havana was crowded; with a successful looking, chic clientele that Harvey described as “lawyers and other diseases.” They passed Harvey Dent on the way in, who outdid himself in acting like Gordon and Bullock were his long lost best friends. 

“Jeez, that guy makes my skin crawl,” Harvey muttered as he and Jim settled into a booth at the back. The service was fast and efficient, and the food was a cut above anything Harvey’d had in a while. Best of all, Jim was actually eating. Harvey silently thanked whatever gods were responsible, as he took a swig of his beer.

“You cuttin’ back on drinkin’?” He indicated Jim’s iced tea.

“I’m not supposed to drink with the sleeping pills. Or the anti-depressants. Lee’s doing her best to make sure I don’t end up in a padded cell at Arkham. Like Len.”

Harvey grimaced. “There’s an ugly thought. Lee says they have to keep him in restraints. He thinks “little people” are crawling around inside of him, and he keeps trying to...uh, never mind, not while we’re eating. In other news, didja know Lee and Alfred are an item?”

“Yeah, they’re good for each other, and it’s good for Bruce, too- to have her around.” Jim’s expression darkened. “Look who just sat down at Dent’s table-it’s Loeb. Speaking of which; I’ve been thinking. We got some real dirt on Loeb when we found Miriam, right? I struck some bargains with him, and he played ball. So why, all of a sudden, did he decide to screw me over by tricking me into taking on the Skolimsky case? What happened that made him decide he didn’t care if I spilled everything I knew?”

“Maybe it wasn’t his decision. Maybe he got orders.”

“My thinking exactly, but from who? Falcone? What did Falcone stand to gain? And if not Falcone, who?”

“Excuse me.” The waitress set down two slices of cake. “Dessert’s on the house, courtesy of me and Aiden. He’s the bartender.” She handed Jim a slip of paper. “And that’s my phone number, and Aiden’s.” Jim looked at the bar, where a cheerful young man winked and waved at him. “I hope it’s ok, but he thinks you’re cute, and so do I, and we noticed you weren’t wearing a wedding ring. So if you’re not doing anything this weekend, you might want to give one of us a call. I mean, depending on whether you like boys or girls.” She smiled sweetly. “We also thought it was real nice of you to take your dad, here, out for dinner.”

Jim fumbled for words. “That’s very kind of you, but..............”

“I’m not his dad, I’m his Daddy, if you get my meaning.” Harvey reached across the table for Jim’s hand. “He’s all mine, honey. Bought and paid for.” 

“Oh!” The girl turned red. “I’m so sorry!” She rushed away, giving the bartender a “thumbs down”. 

“Damn it, Harvey! ” 

They both laughed, the first time Harvey had seen Jim so much as smile in over a month. Harvey made himself stop thinking about how he half wished it were true; he could picture getting friendlier with Jim, and with Oswald out of the way, who knew what could happen....”

“Maybe you shoulda taken one of them up on that offer, Boy Scout. Maybe you shouldn’t be spending every night alone.”

“I’m not, Harvey. Most nights I’ve been staying in the guest room in Gertrud’s apartment. She put Ozzie’s things in there, from when he was a kid...it makes me feel less alone. Her, too.” Jim suddenly brightened. “Did I tell you, Oz asked me once if we could get a couple of kittens? I figure when he comes home, that’ll be the perfect time; they’ll be a welcome home present.”

For a few seconds, Jim forgot to be miserable. 

“Sometimes I used to wish he had...some other kind of job, you know? So that we didn’t have be so secretive all the time. I wasn’t ashamed of him, or of being with him, but I’m afraid maybe he thought I was; and he just didn’t say anything. I need to talk with him about that, when this is over, because I was never ashamed of him, not for a minute. Just the opposite.” 

Having no idea how to respond, Harvey blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Jim. Have you thought about the possibility that Oswald might not be coming back?” The look on Jim’s face made him regret the words the minute he said them. 

“No. He’s not dead. Gertrud told me she’d know if he was. She’s his mother, they have a connection; a special bond. Gertrud would know.”

“Sure, sure she would. That makes sense.” Harvey didn’t think it made a damn bit of sense, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to tell Jim what he thought of Oswald’s mother: crazy as fuck, and twice as ugly. 

As soon as they were outside, Jim lit up another cigarette. “The food was pretty good. I should bring Oswald here, I think he’d like it.”

Harvey didn’t say a word.  
____________

It was late afternoon. No one paid the least bit of attention to the young woman in the driver’s seat of the beige minivan, as she sat in the “Big Belly Burger” parking lot, eating an order of fries. Khaki slacks, navy blouse-everything about her was unremarkable. Her straight, mousy brown hair was cut in a shoulder length bob, with bangs long enough to touch her black, thick rimmed glasses. 

Selina hummed along with the radio as she smiled at her reflection in the rearview mirror. The wig and make-up made her look a decade older than her 15 years, and she had a fake driver’s license ready if she got stopped by a cop. 

She tensed up as she spotted a blonde woman in a silver car, pulling out of the parking lot across the side street. The woman turned onto Murphy Avenue, going north; Selina let a couple of cars get between them, and followed her.

It’d taken weeks of patient watching and waiting, to glimpse the Aerialist a handful of times. One morning as the sun was coming up, she’d gotten lucky; she spotted him flying around the side of an abandoned building and disappearing into an open window. Minutes later, he’d walked out of a ground floor exit, looking like an ordinary guy with red hair and a backpack. That’s when she saw the blonde woman drive him away; more importantly, she’d gotten a good look at the car’s tags.

Another week, and a friend of Ivy’s spotted the car in the parking lot of an apartment complex. And now, Selina was hoping the blonde was going to lead her somewhere significant. The silver car kept north, turning on Dillon and then onto the expressway; across the Kane Bridge and into the county. The upscale suburbs eventually gave way to undeveloped acreage, farmland now overgrown and neglected, and still the silver car sped north. It was getting dark, and the traffic had grown thinner until Selina feared the blonde would realize she was being followed. 

Cursing, she decided to call it quits. She turned into a parking lot, across the highway from a trailer park, that a convenience store shared with a Laundromat and “Maria’s World Famous Crab Shack”. She went into the store, grabbed a soft drink and struck up a conversation with the clerk-a skinny teen whose nametag read “Micah”.

“Where you headed?” His smile revealed a mouthful of crooked teeth.

“Gotham. Been to see my grandparents, upstate. Boring drive. Whaddaya do for fun around here, in the middle of nowhere?”

“Go to Gotham. My friends used to some up here.”

“What for, to party at the crab shack?”

“That dump? Nah, there’s a farmhouse about ten more miles up the road-you can’t see it from the highway. After old lady Simpson died, it stood empty for a long time; you shoulda seen the parties we had up there.” He giggled. “Outrageous.”

“But it’s not empty anymore?”

“Some couple’s been fixin’ it up. Don’t know nothin’ about ‘em, but they’re real nice. They stop in here for gas sometimes. The man buys coffee, tells me to put the change in my pocket. Nobody else around here does that.”

A woman strolled in with a baby on her hip, followed by three more children of assorted ages and sizes, and an elderly woman with a walker. 

Selina figured that was her cue to leave. On the way back to Gotham, she felt buoyant. She’d half expected to follow the blonde around the city, from one boring place to the next; instead, she’d made real progress. The next step would be to come back during the day, and look into where that farmhouse was located.

She had the minivan at her disposal for a few weeks. The woman it belonged to was in Europe, and had no idea that her house sitter-a friend of Selina’s named Coco-was letting Selina use it. Coco, who owed Selina some favors, was letting her and Ivy stay in the woman’s house, too. That worked out fine because Barbara had some weird houseguest that Selina was glad to stay clear of, anyway. 

Driving was a guilty pleasure for Selina. She knew that someday, it’d probably just seem like a chore; but for now it made her feel free, and strong, like nothing could stop her. Sure, it was illegal-that’s what made it fun, made her feel like she was getting away with something. Gotham grew larger until it filled the horizon; and, as she crossed back over the bridge she thought of Bruce. She couldn’t wait to tell him all about her adventures. She’d never admit it to him, but she loved the way he looked up to her. She couldn’t wait to see how impressed he’d be, with what a great detective she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the original comics, “pre New-52”, Jim Gordon was a heavy smoker. It made sense to me that it might be a habit he’d turn to under stress.
> 
> In the comics, Leslie Thompkins was a love interest for Alfred Pennyworth, and helped Alfred to parent Bruce Wayne after Thomas and Martha Wayne were murdered.
> 
> “Big Belly Burger” is, of course, a well-known fast food chain in the DC universe.
> 
> The map of Gotham that I’m using can be found at this address:  
> http://batmangothamcity.net/the-cartographer-of-gotham/
> 
> Detective Story is a 1951 Film noir that tells the story of one day in the lives of the various people who populate a police detective squad.
> 
> The events in this chapter take place around the same time frame as episodes 20-21-22, but I’m altering the continuity to fit my story. The bogus attempt on Maroni’s life has taken place, and Jason Skolimsky’s dead, but the gang war won’t erupt for a while yet.


	26. Criss Cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim navigates a series of double–crosses and strange alliances that result in revelations and fresh mysteries.

One of the things Joey could never understand about Gotham was how a place that got so miserably cold in the winter could get so unbearably hot in the summer. The central air at “First Love” was doing wonders for the first two floors of the building, and almost nothing for the third floor. Joey-whose real name was Ethan- had finally given up hope that the air conditioning might reach the room he was working in. He was laboring over postproduction work with the windows open, and a fan on. The sun was starting to set, so with luck things would start to cool off- in a couple of hours. 

He hoped that Cindy had been enjoying herself for the last two weeks. No one but Gordon knew where she was, but Ethan imagined she was somewhere deliciously cool and luxurious; while he was being broiled alive in the infernal heat. The porno he was editing was a disturbing one; he was reflecting on how much he hated undercover work, when he heard the sound of breaking glass, followed by gunfire.

At the top of the stairwell, he was met by a crowd of people shrieking and rubbing their faces. They surged forward, panicking, as the gunfire continued below. Holstering his own gun, he grabbed at the people in front; steering them to the open window and pushing them onto the fire escape, shouting at them to hold hands as they descended. He was so intent on getting them out, it took him a minute to notice the gunman standing in the alley. The man raised his weapon, aiming at the screaming, sobbing group on the fire escape. Ethan’s brain registered two thoughts at once: first, the purpose of the tear gas was to force everyone out of the building, where’d they’d be easy to pick off. 

Secondly, the gunman was looking down, in shock, at a blade protruding from the middle of his chest. 

As Ethan watched, the gunman slumped to the ground. A woman, wearing dark clothing and a black half mask, seemed to fly straight up into the air; and came down on top of a second gunman. Ethan turned his attention back to directing the hysterical crowd.  
____________

Harvey slammed on the brakes; Jim was out of the car before it stopped moving. They’d seen the smoke from several blocks away. 

Paramedics had set up a makeshift field hospital, where a crowd was being treated for minor injuries and exposure to tear gas. Several ambulances were leaving, sirens blaring. In the near distance, Jim could see what was left of the building that had housed “First Love”. Firefighters were swarming around it, working to keep the flames from spreading to adjacent buildings. 

He spotted Gino, who motioned for Jim and Harvey to follow him. On the other side of a van, four bodies were laid out on a tarp. “I had two officers inside when it started. The one upstairs got most of the people who were inside to safety, got ‘em out using the fire escape. The officer downstairs exchanged fire with two of the attackers; she held ‘em off ‘till they started shooting canisters of tear gas through the downstairs windows. She took a hit to the shoulder, but she’ll live.” He lowered his voice. “My officers told the same story. There was a man and a woman, both masked, who showed up and took out the “cleaners”, and they didn’t do it with guns. They were armed with swords.” 

Harvey made a face. “You’re not serious? What’re you saying, a couple of Samurai warriors just happened to be passing by, and decided to lend a hand?”

“Look for yourself.” Gino pointed at the four bodies. “See what your medical examiner has to say. Somebody sent them to slaughter everyone in that building; they managed to kill three adults and one of the teen “models” before two people wearing masks showed up and stopped them.”

“It was the Death Angel. He didn’t want the kids killed, they’re the victims in all this; and he wanted us to have witnesses, to help build a case against whoever sent these assassins.” Jim paused to kneel beside one of the bodies, and look at the wounds. “What’s going on with Crucifixxx, did the main operation get attacked?”

“What main operation? We just discovered that Crucifixx’s been dismantled, everybody associated with it has left town, or gone into hiding, as of this afternoon. Too bad the skeleton crew here at ‘First Love’ didn’t get the memo.” Gino pulled out a handkerchief, and started wiping sweat and soot off his face. 

“Someone wanted to send a message; not to mention, they want these kids dead because they’re afraid some of them might start talking. Everybody who came out of that building needs to be questioned and placed in protective custody.” Jim turned to Harvey. “C’mon, there’s somebody we need to see.” 

____________

Harvey Dent’s bodyguard hadn’t shown up for work that morning. When Harvey called the agency, he was told that no, they had no idea why this had happened; no, they wouldn’t be able to send a replacement for at least three days; and yes, they thought it would be a good idea for him to see if a different company might be able to assist him sooner. He’d called two other agencies, and neither of them had anyone they could send out; business was booming, they said, and everyone was short-handed.

It was enough to make a person paranoid. 

His Aunt Clarice wasn’t taking his calls, either. He’d been trying all evening, but all he got was her voice mail. Something was wrong.

When Tyler came up behind him and hugged him, Harvey nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“I’m sorry,” Tyler said softly. “Why don’t you sit down? Let me get you a drink, and massage your neck-you’re so tense. I’ve never seen you like this.”

Harvey turned, and kissed him on the cheek. “That sounds wonderful, actually.” He sat on the sofa, willing himself to relax; watching Tyler eagerly mix a dry martini, just the way Harvey liked it. Tyler always looked so happy when he was doing something that pleased Harvey. 

He’d barely had time to take a sip of the martini before the phone rang. “Yes? That’s fine, send them right up.” He sighed, and managed to gulp the rest of it before Tyler opened the door for their visitors. 

“Detectives! What can I do for you gentlemen this evening? Would either of you care for a drink?” 

Jim took a step towards Dent. “Is there somewhere private we can talk? I’ll make it quick.”

“Of course. Tyler, would you be an angel and get Detective Bullock whatever he wants from the bar?” Harvey led Jim into his study. “Now, what’s this about?”

“You tell me. Crucifixxx is shut down, and somebody sent a team of cleaners to kill everyone at ‘First Love.’ Looks like the Death Angel got in the way. We’ve got survivors and they can’t talk fast enough, but you’re our only link to whoever’s calling the shots.”

“Jim, I assure you, I know nothing about...................”

“You stupid son of a bitch!” Jim roared, as he grabbed Harvey by his lapels and slammed him up against a wall. “Don’t you realize they’re coming after you next? You know too much! Who gives you your orders?”

The door flew open as Tyler barreled into the room. “You get away from him!” He yanked open a desk drawer and took out a gun, pointing it at Jim. “I said, let him go!”

Bullock stood in the doorway. “Put that down, kid, before somebody gets hurt.”

“No! He attacked Harvey!” 

Dent pulled away from Jim. “It’s all right, Tyler. Jim and I are friends; we’re just having a little disagreement. Here,” he slid his arm around Tyler, “Let me have the gun, do as I say...that’s right.” He took the gun from the youth, and laid it back in the drawer. “Now, give us some privacy. Please?” He leaned over and whispered something to Tyler. 

Tyler gave Jim a dirty look, then stalked out. Bullock cursed under his breath and followed.

Harvey straightened his jacket. “No need for violence, I get your point. I don’t know who decided it was time to clean house. I was the intermediary between my Aunt Clarice and ‘First Love’. I was never told whose interests she was representing.” He sat on the corner of the desk. “ I’m telling you this because I’m afraid you’re right; I’ve become ‘non-essential’, and may well be in danger. As for my Aunt-I’m unable to get in touch with her, and that worries me.”

Jim tried to get his mind around this new information. “Your Aunt’s a wealthy woman with a successful, respectable career. Why would she be mixed up with a porn studio?”

“She told me that she had powerful friends.” Harvey hesitated. “From time to time they needed access to individuals who could disappear. Individuals that no one would go looking for. As to why they were needed, or what happened to them- I don’t know. I don’t believe she knew, either.”

“You didn’t much care, did you?” Jim looked disgusted.

“Before you judge me, think about this. We all make compromises in order to survive. First, a few small things. Then, larger ones. Before you know it, those larger things start to look small. That’s life in Gotham. You think you’re better than the rest of us? What would you do if you had to choose between protecting yourself and your loved ones, or protecting a few faceless strangers? If you’re smart, you’d act in your own best interests.” 

Jim flinched. “I already made that choice, and the result was that I watched my own best interests go right down the shitter. What’s important at the moment, is that we need to get you and Tyler out of here. This is the first place they’ll look.” 

_______________

Harvey Bullock had pitched a shit-fit of epic proportions, when Jim told him to take Dent and Tyler to the precinct.

“While you go to Lancaster’s place by yourself? Like I’m gonna let that happen?”

But Harvey had let it happen, since he didn’t have a better idea, and Jim had promised to call for back-up if anything was amiss. Jim had taken Dent’s Jaguar; when he got to the Lancaster estate, the place was pitch dark, the front gates wide open. He drove through and parked on the lawn just inside the gates. 

He approached the house cautiously, his gun drawn. The first bodies he encountered belonged to two bullmastiffs. The second group of bodies consisted of three security guards with broken necks. Whoever’d killed them hadn’t bothered to take their weapons; their guns were lying in the wet grass. Someone had wanted to keep noise to a minimum.

The front door to the manor was unlocked. A butler lay just inside, in a pool of his own blood.

Jim peered around the corner of the entrance to the living room. Moonlight shone through the tall windows. Lying on the carpet were Judge Lancaster and two other women. Maids, from the way they were dressed. 

The next thing Jim knew, he was on the floor; his gun knocked from his hand. Even in the dim light, he recognized his opponent: it was the woman who’d killed Dick Lovecraft. He regained his feet and blocked her next blow; determined to keep her from getting a chokehold. A blur of motion, a matter of seconds-he managed to break her left kneecap, and she went down.

Unfortunately, she now had his gun. She stood, off balance- but didn’t fire. Instead, her expression became one of surprise. A thin band appeared around her throat; a band of dark red, that seeped out and dripped down her neck. Slowly, her head slid to one side; until it fell to the floor, along with her headless body.

“You were doing fine, until she got your gun.” The masked man wiped his blade on one of the armchairs, then sheathed it. “Hurry, we don’t have much time.” He took off down a hallway, with Jim- who paused to pick up his gun- close behind him. The man ducked into what looked like a music room, complete with grand piano. One of the walls was jutting into the room at an odd angle, revealing a hidden room on the other side; in which a woman, also masked, was stuffing books into a large suitcase. 

Jim entered the room, looking around in astonishment. The room was lit by an electric lantern sitting on a small, rustic table. Every wall was lined with shelves filled with books; old ones, judging from the smell. Some looked like ledgers. 

“How much time do we have?” The woman didn’t stop what she was doing.

“Thirty minutes, tops. Here.” He thrust a suitcase at Jim. “Fill this up, as fast as you can; start here. You’ll need these- they’re records of Judge Lancaster’s illegal transactions.” 

Jim started to speak, but the man silenced him with a gesture. Fine. He shoved as many books as he could into the suitcase. “Now what?”

The woman turned to Jim. “Now we run.”

They took off running, rolling the suitcases behind them; out of the house, across the front lawn. Jim followed the lead of his bizarre companions, picking up his suitcase and running with it, towards where he’d parked Dent’s car. The suitcase seemed to weigh a ton.

“Faster!” the woman yelled.

When they reached the car, the man pulled him to the ground behind it. “Lie flat, keep your head down.”

The explosion was so loud it left Jim’s ears ringing; the ground shook beneath him. When he stood up and looked, what was left of Lancaster Manor was in flames.

“Scorched earth policy, ” the man remarked, in a casual tone. “The assassins planned to leave zero evidence. The bomb they planted was a kind I’m not familiar with, I couldn’t be sure of dismantling it safely. Open the trunk, and we’ll load your car.”

“There’s one problem.” Jim pointed his gun at them. “You’re both under arrest.”

“These books contain a wealth of information, some of it decades old. Maybe even the information you need to find the Wayne’s killers. Do you want that in the hands of your illustrious city officials? Or do you want a chance to put them in a safe place, for your eyes and the eyes of those you trust?” The man sounded unconcerned. “Besides, if you arrest us, your Mr. Cobblepot might just starve to death before anyone finds him.”

“You...have Oswald?!?” 

“We saved his life. He’s quite well, and eager to see you. But, he’s confined to his quarters, which are- I assure you-escape proof. Now, help us load the car, and I’ll send for you in a few days. You have my word that you’ll be re-united with Mr. Cobblepot by the end of the week.” The man grinned. “Detective. It really is my way or the highway. Your choice.”

Jim popped the trunk.

____________________

Bruce stood on a section of flat roof, looking in the direction of Lancaster Manor. 

“Be careful of the balustrade, Master Bruce.” Alfred didn’t care for rooftop excursions, but Bruce had been beside himself with curiosity. The explosion had made the glass in the kitchen windowpanes rattle. As they watched, a monstrous plume of smoke continued to rise in the night sky.

“What do you suppose happened?”

“Well, I’m guessing,” Alfred offered dryly, “that something’s exploded. I’m also guessing we’d probably learn more about it by staying indoors and watching for news updates on the television, rather than risking our necks clambering all over the roof.”

“Very funny. But, you’re probably right.” Bruce looked away. “There’s a car at the gate. Were you expecting someone?”

“No, but I’ll see to it.” 

A short time later, Jim pulled up to Wayne manor in Harvey Dent’s baby blue Jaguar, with an extremely peculiar cargo to unload.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Criss Cross is a 1949 film noir starring Burt Lancaster, Yvonne De Carlo, and Dan Duryea, and directed by Robert Siodmak. The characters double-cross each other in just about every way imaginable. 
> 
> The events in this chapter take place around the same time frame as episodes 20-21-22, but I’m altering the continuity to fit my story. The bogus attempt on Maroni’s life has taken place, and Jason Skolimsky’s dead, but the gang war won’t erupt for a while yet.
> 
> The woman that Jim encounters at Lancaster Manor is Larissa Diaz, the version of “Copperhead” that appears in Gotham.


	27. Nocturne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selina, Bruce, and Ivy go on an adventure. Bruce provides Jim with the location where Oswald is being held prisoner.

It was almost midnight when the beige minivan pulled up outside the gates of Wayne Manor. Bruce looked over his shoulder one last time before climbing into the passenger seat. 

“Your disguise is amazing. I’d never have guessed it was you!” Bruce stared at Selina as they sped away. 

“That’s the idea.” She looked extremely pleased with herself. “I’m good at just about whatever I put my mind to.”

“If we get stopped by the cops, she’s our big sister; her name’s Kaylee, ‘cause that’s what it says on the license. Our boring last name is Cook.” Ivy wrinkled her nose. “So, kid- how’d you get away from your bodyguard?”

“Alfred’s busy tonight, his girlfriend’s visiting. They think I went to bed two hours ago.”

“Perfect. They’re probably way too busy to think about you, ‘cause they’re doin’ naughty things.” Ivy giggled. “On the kitchen table, most likely.”

“Thanks, Ivy, that’s exactly what I wanted to think about. Elderly people, doin’ it on a kitchen table.” Selina couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease Bruce. “And just think, poor Bruce has to eat off that table. Knowing what goes on there.”

“Alfred’s not all that old. And I seriously doubt they’re utilizing the kitchen table.” Bruce couldn’t keep from laughing.

“He looks like he’s about ninety. It wouldn’t surprise me if he turned out to be some thousands of years old undead creature.” 

Bruce shifted, so he could look at the girl in the back seat. “Ivy, you’ve got a weird imagination. Besides, if anyone’s a supernatural creature, it’s not Alfred, it’s the guy whose house we’re about to sneak up on.” 

“Don’t say that. That’s why the police haven’t been able to catch him. They think he’s more than human, and they’re afraid of him. I found out where he lives, because I don’t think like they do. He’s just a person, and people make mistakes.” Selina looked at the odometer; they’d just passed the trailer park, so the house was ten miles away.

No one said anything for a while. Finally, they passed a narrow gravel road, and came to a mostly overgrown dirt road. Selina drove down the dirt road until they were out of sight of the highway, and the dirt road dead-ended. 

“You’re staying with the car. Over here.” Selina led Ivy to a spot behind a large tree. 

“We’re leaving her here, alone? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“I told you before we started. My plan, my rules. Besides, she’s armed.” Selina took off her fake glasses, and tossed them in the back seat.

“Armed?!?”

“Bruce! Keep your voice down. Of course she’s got a gun, what did you expect her to defend herself with? Her teeth? We all can’t live in a mansion with servants to protect us.” 

“It’s a small gun.” Ivy whispered, from behind the tree.

“Whatever. Your rules.” Bruce sounded sullen. 

“Don’t sulk. We’re having an actual adventure!” Selina punched Bruce on the arm. “Remember, no talking, at all, from here on-until we see if anyone’s there.” She started down a trail at the edge of the woods. Bruce followed, trying to make as little noise as possible.

It wasn’t long before they could see lights up ahead. They stopped at the edge of the woods, close to the North side of the house. The house was brightly lit from within, so it was easy to see in the windows. She motioned for Bruce to follow her; they sprinted to the house, and moved stealthily to the front. There was no sign of life, no noise, and no car in the gravel driveway. After slowly circling the house, looking in all the windows, Selina tried the front door. It was unlocked.

They make a quick survey of the first floor. “Nothing here except a bunch of old furniture,” Selina whispered. The second and third floor proved frustrating; all the doors were locked.

“I thought you were good at picking locks.”

“I am, these are unusual.” Selina gave up and put her tool kit back in her pocket. “I could probably do it if I had unlimited time. C’mon, lets go back to the kitchen. I think there’s a door to the basement.”

The basement stairs creaked so loudly; it made whispering a moot point. The basement looked like any other basement-tools, a workbench, boxes stacked against one wall. On one side of the room was a door. Selina went through first.

“Holy shit.” 

Bruce held his breath. The smaller room smelled disgusting, but the worst thing wasn’t the smell. It was the cage with a cot in it. “They kept somebody here.”

“Ya think? Let’s get out of here.” She suddenly felt the need to be outdoors. 

They circled around the outside one last time, this time at a short distance from the house. 

“Selina-somebody’s at that window!”

There was a slender silhouette, at a barred window on the third floor. A man’s voice called out, “Who is it? Who’s there? Please, I need help!”

“Tell us who you are!” Bruce yelled before Selina could stop him.

“Oswald Cobblepot! I’ve been kidnapped! Get away from here, call the police!”

“We’ll get help!” Bruce turned to Selina. “That’s Detective Gordon’s boyfriend. I heard Leslie talking to Alfred, everybody think’s he’s dead.”

Selina grabbed Bruce’s arm, and they took off down the trail. 

When they got back to the car, there was a man leaning against it. Ivy stood a little distance away- pointing a pistol at him.

“Good evening. I hope you found what you were looking for.” 

“Now we have. And we want answers.” Selina took several steps towards the man. “Who are you? Why’d you come to Gotham? Why did you kill all those people, and why did you kidnap that man in the house?”

“ My name is Rasul. The people I killed were in the business of child pornography and prostitution. The police weren’t doing anything about it, so I did. I came to Gotham to make it a better place, and to see what kind of person Jim Gordon had become. As for kidnapping his boyfriend, that’s a way to make sure Detective Gordon comes to see me.”  
The man seemed as relaxed as if he was chatting with old friends. “I’ve been waiting for you to find me. I have a favor to ask; I need you to tell Detective Gordon where this house is. Give him directions. Tell him to come here tomorrow evening, alone, around seven.”

Selina looked skeptical. “Take off your mask.”

The man complied. He had a pleasant face, liberally sprinkled with freckles. He smiled at Selina. “Sorry if it’s a bit of an anti-climax.”

She shrugged. “You look the way I’d expect a redhead to look, I guess. Are you gonna stay in Gotham, for good?”

“I promise I’ll be gone as soon as I meet with Detective Gordon.”

“That’s kind of a shame. I’d like to learn how you do those acrobatics, y’know, flying around buildings.”

“If you mean that, you’ll get your opportunity, the same way I did. You’ll find your way to the right teachers, at the right time.”

“Yeah, sure.” Selina folded her arms. “Fortune cookie wisdom. Exactly what I need more of.”

The man looked at Bruce. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“I think we ought to place you under citizen’s arrest, and take you to the police, right now.”

“His name’s Bruce,” Ivy explained. “We keep him around ‘cause he’s nuts.”

“I understand that you want to do the right thing, Bruce. But there’s no way the three of you could overpower me. I give you my word; I mean no harm to you, or to Detective Gordon.” 

“We’ll give him the message.” Selina put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “We’re done talking, Rasul. I want you to go back to your house. Now.”

Rasul vanished into the woods. 

____________

When Selina dropped Bruce off at the gates of the Manor, he couldn’t wait to get inside and call Jim. But before he got past the gates, he heard a familiar voice. 

“Did you enjoy your drive in the country, Master Bruce?”

“Hello, Alfred. Yes, you could say that. How did you...?” Bruce stopped. “Never mind. I need to say I’m sorry, and I am sorry if you were worried. But I had something important to do.”

“Is that so?” 

“I’ll tell you all about it. And I’ve got to call Detective Gordon!”

It was a long walk, from the gates to the manor; which worked out; because it was a long story. When they reached the front door, Leslie was there to greet them. 

“Are you hungry, Bruce? There just might be a pan of brownies in the kitchen that’re crying out to be eaten.”

Bruce headed for the kitchen; Alfred took Leslie’s arm, and held her back. 

“Do you have Jim Gordon’s number in your phone?”

“Yes, what’s going on?” 

“Oh, nothing much. Bruce and his psychotic friends spent the evening with a serial killer. They broke into his home, for starters; and later, they threatened him with a firearm. Nonetheless, he was mannerly and even quite personable.”

“WHAT?!?”

“We’ve got to talk to Jim. I hope he’s answering his phone at four bloody o’clock in the morning.”  
____________

Jim had been in a state of nervous excitement ever since the masked man had told him Oswald was still alive. 

A combination of exhaustion and sleeping pills provided Jim with a few hours of fitful slumber each night; not that he’d call it sleep, or rest, or anything healthy. He’d started putting his phone next to his pillow the night Oswald disappeared, just in case there was news. 

He’d been dozing, off and on, when Alfred’s call came through.

It was the second best news he’d ever gotten.  
____________

“Mornin’, Doc. You look like something’ the cat dragged in-and then dragged up two or three flights of stairs. Want a donut?”

“Thanks, Harvey. I spent the night at Wayne Manor.” Leslie picked out a crueller, and dunked it in her coffee. “Alfred and I sat up all night because Bruce snuck out of the house, and didn’t come home until nearly morning.” She rubbed her eyes. “Remind me why I ever wanted to have children.”

“My old man woulda put me in the hospital if I’d pulled that shit at Bruce’s age. Where’d the kid go?”

“He was out doing ‘detective work’ with Selina, who according to Bruce, is absolutely not his girlfriend. So what brings you to the morgue?”

“I’m lonely.” Harvey pretended to wipe away tears. “Jim called in sick, said he needed a day off. Maybe he’ll actually get some rest. How do you think he’s doin’?”  
Leslie hesitated. She knew Jim hadn’t told Harvey about the masked man’s assertions that he was holding Oswald prisoner; and she’d given her word to keep quiet about it. “I think he’s handling everything.... as well as can be expected. Jim’s tough; he’ll come through this.”

She hoped she was right.

It was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Nocturne” is a stylish black and white film noir starring George Raft and Lynn Bari, produced by Joan Harrison and directed by Edwin Marin. Made in 1946, it features outstanding art direction; and tells the story of an honest, hard working police detective whose reputation is built upon the fact that he pursues every case to the bitter end. The film compares and contrasts the lifestyles of working class people vs. the wealthy elite. 
> 
> The events in this chapter take place around the same time frame as episodes 20-21-22, but I’m altering the continuity to fit my story. The bogus attempt on Maroni’s life has taken place, and Jason Skolimsky’s dead, but the gang war won’t erupt for a while yet.


	28. Out of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Angel of Death reveals the truth about his identity and his mission in Gotham. Jim and Oswald are finally reunited.

It was the longest day of Jim’s life.

He’d gotten up at three am, and started cleaning the apartment. He vacuumed, dusted, scrubbed, scoured and mopped until there was nothing left to do; and then he did it all again. Every vase he could find had fresh flowers in it. When he smoked, he flicked the ashes in the kitchen sink, and immediately washed them down the drain. He had to; he’d thrown out all the ashtrays. 

He wanted the place to look perfect when Oswald saw it again. 

He’d finally been able to stretch out on the sofa and sleep for a few hours. He showered and shaved, taking more care with his appearance than he had in the previous two miserable months. He went over and over the directions until they were burned into his brain. His plan was to leave at five, giving himself two hours to get there. 

At three, it started to pour down rain. 

At four, the phone rang. Jim almost jumped out of his skin. 

It was security, telling him he had a visitor-at the worst of all possible times. “Yeah, send him up. No problem.” He’d just have to find a way to get rid of him. 

He was talking before he opened the door. “You know, my head’s killing me, I really feel awful, I’ve got a fever, ache all over.............

“Cut the crap, Jimbo.” Harvey came in and settled into an easy chair. “I’ve been to Wayne Manor.”

“That’s the last fucking thing I needed to hear.” Jim sat down. “What did Alfred tell you?” 

“Alfred didn’t tell me nothin’. It was the kid. Bruce called me at work; said he had to see me. He’s worried sick about you goin’ out there alone tonight. Good thing, too, since you may be handing yourself over to a nutcase.” 

“I don’t care if I am, I’m going alone. There’s nothing to talk about, that’s why I couldn’t tell you. Don’t you get it?” 

“Just listen to me, Jim. You don’t know that Oswald’s alive. He might be dead; those kids could’ve seen anybody at that window. It was dark, they were scared; all we know is, they saw a man who said he was Oswald. This could be a trap. I’m not asking to go with you to the farmhouse; just let me follow you as far as the trailer park, and I’ll go wait in the restaurant across the highway. If I don’t hear from you within an hour, that’s when I’m coming after you.” Harvey paused; he could tell his partner was agonizing over what to do. “ You know I’m right, Jim. You also know I’m not gonna let you do this alone. It’s the best compromise I’m gonna offer, so take me up on it.”

Jim sat in silence, listening to the rain.   
____________

The rain became more intense the moment Jim got in his car, and it was downhill from there. It was the kind of rain where it seemed as if someone was throwing buckets of water at the windshield. Thunder, lightening, and rush hour traffic added to the aggravation of being unable to see more than a car’s length ahead. 

Once he got out of the city, the traffic thinned out, but the storm kept going full blast. It was a miracle that Jim was able to see the gravel road when he came to it. Without Selina’s explicit directions, it would’ve been hopeless. He made a mental note-he owed her a favor.

The only good thing about the drive was that his nerves were already so shot by the time he got there, he felt strangely calm when he finally pulled up in front of the house. Just before he got out of the car, he had a flash of déjà vu; he shook it off and made a run for the front door. It was unlocked.

He headed in the direction of the only light he saw, which turned out to be a large, old-fashioned kitchen. Seated at a worn out table was the redheaded man; masked, just as he was the last time Jim’d seen him. He motioned for Jim to sit down. 

“Where’s Oswald?”

“Be patient a few more minutes. I need to explain what this is all about.” 

Jim sat. The man was quiet for a few heartbeats. He looked unsure of himself; hesitant, not at all what Jim expected. 

The man chewed on his bottom lip. Then he reached up and pulled his mask off.

Jim knew, even before the mask came off. It was Donnie.

Everything dissolved and swam before his eyes; for a moment, Jim couldn’t breathe. “It’s not possible. You’re dead.”

“I’m sorry, Jimmy. The body you saw-it wasn’t me, it was some other poor fucker they’d taken prisoner. They wanted to scare you, to make you talk. They had me in another building the whole time, not wanting to kill me and lose the information they were sure I had. After we were rescued, our guys kept me separate. Since everyone thought I was dead- that made me valuable. They told me I was in a unique position to serve my country.” Donnie took a breath. “So I became a spook. Black ops.”

“ What about your parents, Donnie, mourning for their dead son? What about me? Do you even know-I spent a year on the psych ward because I couldn’t deal with losing you? Did you know I killed a man, in cold blood, because I thought he was the one who tortured you to death?”

“I found all that out later, when it was too late to do anything about it. By that time, I’d become disillusioned with what I was doing. Nothing we did ever seemed to make a difference. I met some people, who said they felt the same, that they knew of someone who could show me a different way....Jimmy, I’m sorry, I know there’s nothing I can do to fix what’s happened.” 

“Then why are you here?”

“In Tibet, I met a teacher. A warrior, a philosopher named R’as al Ghul. He understands how to fix what’s wrong with humanity. If you’ll come with me, you’ll see. He told me I had to come back to him with proof, that you were worthy to join our cause. That’s what all this has been, a test. I presented you with crimes, with clues-to see how you’d conduct yourself. You proved how different you were from the others. When I took away your lover; you proved that you were able to lose everything that mattered to you in your personal life-and still remain devoted to a higher cause. That cause is the same as ours-the good of the many. Protecting humanity from that small criminal element that drags the rest of us down.”

“So your teacher convinced you, you had the right to come here and pass judgment on me.” Jim fought to keep his voice even.

“Look at the futility of what you do. You arrest criminals so that a corrupt legal system can free them to commit more crimes. You’re spending your life in a hamster wheel that goes nowhere. The world can only be improved if good people are brave enough to take on the responsibility of eliminating the bad.” Donnie smiled, the same loopy, endearing half smile that Jim remembered. “I’ve missed you, Jimmy. Let me show you what I’ve learned. Come with me.”

“I’ve missed you, too. I still care about what happens to you. But I’m not leaving Gotham. I’ve found something here that means as much to me as your philosophy means to you. When Oswald disappeared, I wanted to die. I thought about killing myself. But then I realized-what a lousy memorial that would be to how much I loved him. So I went on with what I came here to do; making Gotham a better place. I found the strength to do that in knowing that everything I did, every day for the rest of my life, would serve as a testament to how much we’d loved each other. I can’t say who I would be if I never met Oswald, but I am who I am now-because of loving him. And that’s never going to change.”

Donnie laid a set of keys on the table. “Third floor.”

Jim took the stairs two steps at a time. The first door was a wooden one. The second one, openwork metal. He could see a small, slender man standing at a barred window, with his back to him. 

As Jim fumbled with the lock, the man turned around. 

“Jim?” Oswald ran to the door, trying to push his arms through the bars. “Jim! Jim, Jim, Jim, Jim, Jim!”

Jim finally got the door open. He threw his arms around Oswald, who hugged him so hard around the neck he nearly strangled him. Jim kissed him, over and over, and when they came up for air, Jim laughed. “You’ve never called me anything but James. What’s with this ‘Jim’, all of a sudden?”

Oswald buried his face in Jim’s jacket, and burst into tears, sobbing so hard Jim had to hold him up to keep him from falling. “It’s all right, it’s all right.” Jim made soothing noises, trying to calm Oswald; then realized there were tears running down his own face.  
“I’m getting your hair wet.” He rubbed his face in his lover’s hair, which was longer than he’d ever seen it. “Jesus, you smell good.”

Oswald looked up at Jim. “You’ve lost weight,” he whispered. Then he resumed sobbing. They sank down on the sofa, arms and legs so intertwined it was difficult to tell where one person stopped and the other started.

“Damn, baby, I’ll gain it back.” Jim was laughing and crying at the same time. “What are you doing-that tickles!”

Oswald had unbuttoned Jim’s shirt, and was rubbing his face on Jim’s bare chest. “I have no idea,” he muttered, and then went back to sobbing, as Jim pressed kisses to the top of his head.

“Hey, look.” Jim reached into his pocket. “You lost something.” It was the gold watch he’d given Oswald for Christmas. “And there’s something I have to ask you.”

Oswald stopped crying, although he was still snuffling. “You want to know what happened to my freckles. Jim, I haven’t been getting any sun.” 

“No, that’s not it. I want to know if you’ll marry me.”

Oswald looked astonished. “Wh...what did you say?”

“While you were gone, I had a lot of time to think. I decided that if I got the chance..” He choked up and stopped. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again. I didn’t know if I’d already missed my chance to ask you. I love you, Ozzie. I want to marry you, if you’ll have me.”

“Yes. I’ll have you. I mean, I’ll marry you. I mean, I love you, too! But what about your career, what about...”

Whatever else Oswald had to say got smothered by a kiss.

They were so wrapped up in each other; they didn’t see the man standing on the landing. Donnie turned away, and walked slowly down the stairs and into the yard. It had stopped raining.

A car screeched to a halt behind Jim’s, and a bearded man leapt out, gun at the ready. He took aim at Donnie, while walking towards him. “GCPD. Now, tell me where Jim is.”

“He’s upstairs, with Mr. Cobblepot.” 

Harvey heard a click, and felt pressure at the base of his skull. 

“That’s my associate, Zorah, who’s standing behind you. Give me your weapon.”

“Fuck you, mutherfucker. She pulls the trigger, and I air out your insides. Your call.”

“Zorah; lower your gun.” Donnie started moving towards the woods. “Now I suggest we all go our separate ways.”

Harvey and Zorah locked eyes as she backed away. When she reached the woods, both Donnie and Zorah turned, and were quickly lost to sight. Harvey ran into the house and up the stairs.

“Well, if you two aren’t the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Oswald snuggled even closer to Jim. “Hello, Detective Bullock.”

“Hello yourself, you little shit. I never thought I’d be this happy to see you. Mother of God, I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Thank you, Harvey.” Oswald sniffled. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. “Will you be our best man? Perhaps you can share the honor with Gabe.” 

“Kid, I’m the best man wherever I go. So’s how about we all get the hell out of this dump and go home?” Harvey looked around. “This place gives me the creeps, it’s like somethin’ out of a horror movie.”

“Or a bad dream.” Jim helped Oswald gather up a few things, including his sketchbooks. “A bad dream that’s finally over.” He stopped to hug Oswald. “Home’s sounding awfully good to me.”

The two cars disappeared down the gravel road, headed for the highway. An owl hooted nearby; a few stars appeared in between the clouds. Shortly thereafter, a man walked up the steps to the porch; and stood looking up at the sky. 

“Well done, gentlemen! You didn’t even need my assistance,” he said out loud. Victor wondered why Jim hadn’t realized he was listening to every word of every conversation that took place in Jim and Oswald’s apartment. Well, no matter. He pushed the front door open and flicked on a flashlight. “And now, Mr. Death Angel, let’s see if you left anything interesting behind.” Victor loved snooping in other people’s belongings.

It was going to be a delightful evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of the Past (released in the United Kingdom as Build My Gallows High) is a 1947 film noir directed by Jacques Tourneur and starring Robert Mitchum, Jane Greer and Kirk Douglas. The film was adapted by Daniel Mainwaring, with uncredited revisions by Frank Fenton and James M. Cain, from his novel Build My Gallows High. Film historians consider the film a superb example of film noir due to its convoluted, dark storyline, dark cinematography and classic femme fatale. The film's cinematographer Nicholas Musuraca, also shot Tourneur's Cat People.   
> “Out of the Past” is the film Oswald and Jim watched in Jim’s old apartment in Chapter 6.
> 
> There are several references to Jim’s re-occurring dream, which was described in Chapter 1. 
> 
> If you’d like to review the chapters that explain who Donnie is, refer to Chapters 14 and 16. He’s also known as: Rasul, The Angel of Death, The Death Angel, and The Aerialist.
> 
> The events in this chapter take place around the same time frame as episodes 20-21-22, but I’m altering the continuity to fit my story. The bogus attempt on Maroni’s life has taken place, and Jason Skolimsky’s dead. The gang war will soon come into play.


	29. Among the Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Oswald get reacquainted, visit Gertrud, and acquire some pets. Harvey and Sarah have a few drinks. Bruce and Selina do some more sleuthing.

Jim did two things that evening that caused him to question his own better judgment.

First, on the drive back to Gotham he told Oswald that Rasul was actually Donnie. It was all Jim could do to convince Oswald that it was a bad idea to consider going back, and tracking Donnie down. Oswald suddenly had a lot more he wanted to say to Donnie, and all of it was venomous.

Secondly, he’d taken Oswald to visit Gertrud without suggesting which topics might be best suited for the occasion. Jim now slouched in a velvet armchair, directly across from a loveseat upon which mother and son were perched.

Gertrud threw her arms around Oswald every few minutes. “My poor baby! Did those terrible people mistreat you?”

“No, they actually saved my life from Jason Skolimsky. He drugged me and kidnapped me as revenge for Jim trying to bring him to justice for being a serial killer. He was going to shoot me and throw me in the river.” Oswald paused to take a sip of tea. “But then those bizarre fanatics locked me up in an apartment for two months, and kept me like a caged animal!”

“Such an ordeal, that my child has endured!” 

“Well, they did see that I was comfortable, and they never laid a hand on me. The torture was psychological. And all because that horrible man thought he could take Jim away from me!”

“This man wanted to have Jim for himself?” Gertrude looked at Jim, her eyes wide.

“Yes! Mother, this man murdered nearly a dozen people in the most grisly fashion; kidnapped others; and abducted me so that Jim would find himself alone. Then he planned to seduce Jim and make him forget all about me.”

“That’s not exactly the whole story.......” Jim started.

“No, of course not. He was completely insane. Mad as a hatter. And his hair was the most frightful shade of red you could imagine.” Oswald was on a roll. “He ran away from the army, and joined a bloodthirsty cult in the mountains of Tibet. Imagined himself to be some kind of mystical ninja.” Oswald sniffed disdainfully. “He thought he was going to convince Jim to run away with him and join the cult. But Jim said no. And then he asked me to marry him!”

“This crazy lunatic from Tibet wanted to marry you?”

“No, mama, Jim wants to marry me! And I said yes!” Oswald’s face lit up as he smiled at Jim.

“Oh, I see. This seems perhaps an odd time for a proposal?”

“You’re right, Gertrude. Maybe my timing’s not the best, but the last two months have taught me that the present moment is all we have. I wanted Oswald to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with him.”

Gertrude reached out and Patted Jim’s knee. “Poor, poor Jim. You have been carrying a heavy burden. Look at you, all skin and bones. The important thing is, that you brought my Oswald home. The two of you must take care of each other. ”

____________

Jim relaxed, as Oswald leaned back against him. Alone at last, they were soaking in a hot bath. Oswald turned his head so Jim could kiss him, and keep kissing him until the water grew cold. 

As they were toweling each other off, Jim stopped and pushed Oz’s wet hair out of his face. “I need to explain something to you. After you’d been gone a while- I started taking some medications.”

“Medications?”

“Leslie prescribed sleeping pills, and an antidepressant. I wasn’t coping very well; I was holding it together, but just barely. I was drinking too much, and.......” Jim paused, looking embarrassed.

“You started smoking, I could smell it when I walked in. If those people had offered me cigarettes while I was locked up, I would have taken them up on it. I would have taken anything they offered me, most likely.” 

“The thing about the antidepressant is, it has side effects. And one of them is...well...I can’t, um; I mean I’m not able to.....respond. What I’m trying to say is....oh hell.” Jim leaned back against the sink cabinet. “I can’t get it up. I have to taper off the meds, and it’ll take a couple of weeks before the side effects disappear. I didn’t feel like jerking off anyway, if I tried I couldn’t help thinking about you, and that made me even more depressed. I don’t want you to get the idea that I don’t want you, or that I’m not excited to be with you. I’m really sorry.”

“ Don’t you dare say you’re sorry! I’m grateful Leslie was there to help you, and it doesn’t matter to me, what we can or can’t do for a few weeks. I’m so happy to be with you again, nothing else matters.” He kissed Jim’s cheek. “Let’s go to bed. I want to snuggle up to you. To your gorgeous, naked body. Wait-you’re blushing! Oh, you know I love it when you blush. I’d almost forgotten how much. ”  
“Did you forget how much you like it when I do this?” Jim picked Oswald up and carried him into the bedroom; then deposited him gently on the bed. Oswald stretched and rolled, like a cat.

“This is the most wonderful bedroom in the world. I’m sure of it.” Oswald laid his head on Jim’s chest. “I missed you so much. I nearly went crazy, locked up in that house, away from you. Sometimes I wondered if I’d ever see you again. They told me they were going to offer you a chance to join their insane mission; that they planned to make you choose between that, and me.”

Jim couldn’t seem to stop playing with Oswald’s hair; caressing his shoulders, touching him anywhere within reach. They’d been apart for so long, Jim was starved for this. “ I never stopped believing you were alive. The only others who never lost faith were your mother, and of all people-Victor. Everyone else was sure you were dead.”

“I have to ask.” Oswald propped himself up on one arm, so he could see Jim’s face. “When you saw Donnie again...do you still have feelings for him? I don’t care what he said about abstract ideals, he came here for you; he expected you to go away with him. Not to join a cause, he wanted you for himself.”

“Every night that you were gone, I slept with your bathrobe.” Jim’s eyes were moist. “I slept with it in my arms, because it smelled like you. After a few weeks, when it didn’t any more, I went in the bathroom and got your cologne, and put some of it on the robe. Then I sat with it in my lap and cried. I was so miserable without you.” He stroked Oswald’s face. “When I saw Donnie, all I could think about was getting him to take me to you. Whatever I felt for him in the past, it was nothing compared to how much I love you.”

Oswald kissed him, and whispered: “My sweet James. I’m all yours, forever and always.”

After a while they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.

____________

Morning found them curled up together on the couch, after a substantial breakfast. Oswald was pleased to see Jim eating, and enjoying his food; Jim looked so thin, he was worried about him. 

Oswald sighed. “I suppose I should call the club.”

“Let’s wait a day or two, at least. I called in and told Sarah I won’t be back at work for a couple of days. And as for the club- I’ve been talking with Gabe several times a week. The crazy thing is, the club’s been prospering. Once Maroni was convinced you were dead, he started letting Butch order all the liquor he wanted. It was no fun for him to try to ruin the business without you there.”

“Somehow, that’s almost depressing-that the best thing that’s happened to my club was everyone thinking I’m dead. James Gordon- don’t you dare laugh at me!”

“I’m sorry. I’m just so happy to be with you again!” He stopped to nuzzle Oswald’s neck. “There’s another reason to put off announcing your resurrection. It’s going to cause all hell to break loose between Falcone and Maroni. They’ve been at a stalemate. Maroni thinks Falcone planned a phony assassination attempt to start trouble, to force his hand. Falcone thinks Maroni killed you in retaliation, and maintains he had nothing to do with the botched assassination. I vote that we take a few days for ourselves-spend some time together, before jumping back into the cesspool.”

“Ew, jumping in a cesspool, there’s a lovely mental image! All right, you’ve twisted my arm.”

“I thought it might be a good time to get those kittens we talked about. And we could talk about getting married. If you want to. I mean, I know I just sorta sprang that on you, and I didn’t exactly pick a romantic setting.........”

“Of course I want to talk! And marry you. Both! I’m surprised, though- it’s a wonderful surprise, but I thought you wanted us to stay a secret?” Oswald buried his face in his hands. “Ok, I’m babbling, I need to stop.”

“I had a lot of time to think, while you were gone. I hope I never made you feel like I was ashamed of you, or that you were a dirty secret. I realized I’ve been cowardly; and from now on, anyone who doesn’t like it can go screw themselves. Whatever happens, happens. ”

“What about Barbara’s inheritance?”

“Her parents’ will divides everything fifty fifty with her half brother. She doesn’t need a phony marriage, thank God; that would have been wrong, for all of us. I wanted to ask if you liked the idea of getting married in California.”

“Absolutely! Mama will love it there. And we’ll want Barbara and Renee, and Harvey, and Gabe to come. We could even hook up a video feed-for Victor.”

They laughed until they were breathless.

____________

Ethel Goldsmith carefully scrutinized Jim and Oswald, who were sitting on her living room sofa with several of her cats. She was all of four feet tall, and looked to be at least a hundred years old. Jim suspected her career, prior to retirement, had been as a troll who lived under a bridge. Currently, she was their building’s resident “crazy cat lady”, and a friend of Oswald’s mother. 

“Gertrud says you want to adopt. I don’t give kittens to just anyone. What do you do for a living?”

Oswald, who was petting a large yellow tabby, smiled his most charming smile. “I manage a dinner theater, and Jim is a homicide detective.”

“Are you gentlemen married? Any children?”

“Engaged. Children would be a discussion for the future.” Jim put his arm around Oswald. 

“Hmmmmmm.” Ethel motioned for them to follow her. “All my cats are rescue cats. So I want them to have fabulous lives when they go to their forever homes. Do you plan to declaw them?”

“Horrors, no. That’s barbaric.” Oswald peered in the box she’d led them to, in the corner of her bedroom. “Oh, look at the babies!”

Jim reached in and picked up a black and white kitten, and handed it to Oswald; then picked up a fuzzy gray one. “How old are these?”

“Twelve weeks. They’ve had their first shots; been tested for feline leukemia and FIV. You’ve picked out two males, there. Do you already have supplies?”

“I got a litter box, litter, food, bowls, toys, catnip and some cat beds. And a drinking fountain, and a carpeted thing for them to climb and scratch on. ” Jim turned to Oswald, who’d registered surprise. “I went shopping while you were away.”

“All right.” Ethel eyeballed them. “I know where you live.” The way she said it sounded like a threat. “Have you thought about names?”

“Petey and Wade.” They said in unison; then they both laughed.

“Just look at us, Jim! We’re a family.”

____________

Sarah sat at her desk with her chin in her hands. On the other side of the desk was Harvey Bullock. Between them was a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

“Who woulda guessed the killer was some special forces renegade with a screw loose, who came all the way from Tibet to make a play for our favorite boy scout. Hell, I can’t get anybody to walk across the street for me, and look at what this guy did just to get Jim’s attention,” Harvey pouted. 

Sarah snorted. “For all the good it did him. What about the woman?”

“Not sure. She may still be in Gotham.”

“Do this for me: interview Jim and Oswald. Anything they can tell us might be helpful; if the woman’s still here we need to find her. Our people didn’t get much out of that house.” Sarah leaned back and was quiet for a moment. “Do you think Jim’s really going to marry Oswald?”

“Absolutely. He’s been obsessed with the little rat bastard from day one, and it’s gotten worse instead of better. Don’t ask me why livin’ with him’s not enough. Jim’s stubborn as hell, and I’m not gonna risk our friendship by tryin’ to talk him outta it. So don’t ask.”

“I get it. What the hell, all the bigwigs in Gotham are owned by one criminal or another. If Oswald’s successful, he can buy some politicians; he may help Jim’s career rather than destroy it. For that matter,” She stopped to take a drink, “That ex-boyfriend of Jim’s got a better track record at getting rid of miscreants than we do. Maybe that’s what Gotham needs-some vigilantes. Meanwhile, I’ve been hearing strange rumors.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“Like Don Falcone’s become a neurotic recluse. Doubled his bodyguards, sits in his study all day, acts like something bad’s about to happen and he doesn’t know what direction it’s coming from. Nobody’s seen Loeb in a week. Maroni’s always been a windbag, but he’s been shooting his mouth off more than usual, bragging that his time has come. It’s giving me the creeps.”

Harvey got up to leave. “I’ll ask around see what I can find out. And I’ll let you know if I see a lioness give birth in the streets.”

____________

“Hold the flashlight still.” Selina whispered so softly, Bruce could barely hear her. She worked calmly , with no hint of impatience, intent on her task. “Got it.” They pushed the heavy wooden door open, and Bruce shone the light around the room, which was obviously a library. 

The room was lined with bookshelves, stuffed to overflowing. In the center of the room was a long, antique oak table, with claw feet; the table was laden with stacks of books. There was one floor to ceiling window on the wall opposite the door; Selina drew back the curtains so that the room was flooded with moonlight. 

She held her nose. “Shoulda worn a gas mask. This place is ripe.” From the smell of them, some of the books were generations old. “Now you owe me three favors. One for following Alfred and finding the room without him knowing. one for picking the lock, and one for putting up with this stink. For that matter, this whole wing of your house could use some air freshener.”

“You’ll have my eternal gratitude, plus the hundred dollars I promised you.” Selina wouldn’t take money from Bruce as a gift; she despised charity. So, at every opportunity, he thought of ways for her to “earn” it. “We can’t stay long; Alfred’s a light sleeper. I don’t know about Leslie.” He turned on an overhead light.

“With any luck, she wore him out, and he’ll sleep like the dead. What’s all this stuff, anyway?” Selina picked a book up from the table.

“That’s what we’re here to find out. Be careful, put the books back exactly the way you found them, or he’ll know someone was in here. Jim took all of these out of Judge Lancaster’s house before it exploded. ” Bruce picked up a ledger, and began flipping through it. “This one’s just numbers, dates and codes.”

Selina gasped.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually shocked by something, you always act like you’ve seen everything.”

“Bruce. This isn’t funny. It’s about selling children. It tells the date, age and sex of the child, and who they were sold to.”

He took the ledger she handed him. “This is unbelievable; I recognize some of these names. Some are on the board at Wayne Enterprises.” 

A thick envelope, labeled with a name, fell out of the ledger as he looked at it; Selina picked it up and saw that it was filled with photos. She looked at some of them; then literally threw herself at the window, clawing at the casement. She got it open in time to hang her head out the window and throw up. When she was finished, she managed to choke out: “Don’t look.”

Bruce, being Bruce, opened the envelope and looked. The photos depicted children being abused and tortured, in the most unspeakable ways a depraved mind could imagine. Each picture was worse than the last. Bruce placed the envelope back in the ledger. When Selina turned around, he was pale and his hands were shaking. 

“I told you not to look. Judge Lancaster must’ve kept all that to use as blackmail.”

“Let’s not look at any more ledgers. Let’s just see what else is here.” Bruce was glad he hadn’t eaten much at dinner. “This stack seems to be histories of Gotham. Here’re some old diaries; and this one.....it’s a history of the Wayne family.”

“This one is fairy tales and nursery rhymes.” Selena held up a volume with elaborate gilded scrollwork on the cover. “Listen to this:  
Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time,  
Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime.  
They watch you at your hearth; they watch you in your bed.  
Speak not a whispered word about them, or they'll send the Talon for your head.”

Bruce thumbed through several more ornately decorated tomes. “Some of these are books of maps. Some are biographies. This one’s about herbs and incantations; how to cast spells, like witchcraft.”

“Lovely. This place not only stinks, it’s the library from hell. Slavery, torture, black magic, and nursery rhymes about children getting their heads cut off. Can we go, before I get sick again? I need to wash my mouth out. You know where they’re keeping these now, and I promise to teach you how to pick locks.” 

“It’s a deal.” Bruce squeezed her hand, and they left the room; then made their way to the first floor. He followed her outside; they talked for a few more minutes, she kissed him on the cheek before leaving.

He stood, watching her leave, until she was out of sight. 

After he went back inside, there was movement in the bushes near where he’d stood. A boy, just about Bruce’s age, emerged. He looked longingly at Wayne Manor; then turned and quickly vanished into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Among the Living is a 1941 noir starring Albert Dekker, Susan Hayward, Harry Carey and Frances Farmer. The film is a mix of social drama, horror film, and suspense thriller; and features secrets hidden away in a stately manor house.
> 
> Yes, the cats’ names are a Spideypool reference. 
> 
> Harvey’s remark to Sarah references Shakespeare’s play “The Tragedy of Julius Caesar”. Caesar’s wife Calpurnia begs him not to leave the house because of strange omens that foretell his death, including a lioness that gives birth in the streets. 
> 
> The events in this chapter take place around the same time frame as episodes 20-21-22, but I’m altering the continuity to fit my story. The bogus attempt on Maroni’s life has taken place, and Jason Skolimsky’s dead. The gang war will come in to play in the next chapter.


	30. Gun Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of violent events leaves some people dead and others powerless. Startling revelations come to light concerning the past, the present, and the future of Gotham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are the events of the season finale, as they occur in this alternative universe.

Carmine Falcone had been struggling against his restraints ever since he awoke. Rationally, he knew it was useless; but his will to live hadn’t been extinguished, and his struggles were being directed by “survival autopilot”. He knew that, in all likelihood, he was going to die within the hour. His unconscious was being kinder to him than life was: his mind was flooded with happy memories. He pictured his mother, gentle and sweet, who loved him more than anyone else ever had. His wife, Louisa, when she was young and beautiful; before years of knowing what he did for a living drove her to cut her own throat. His children, his sister Carla, and of course Liza. Liza, who would be lovely forever, thanks to him. She would never look in her mirror and see an old, wrinkled crone where a bewitching young woman once stood. 

The door to his hospital room creaked open. 

“So you’re here to see me off, Oswald; and Butch, so kind of you to come. I’d offer you a brandy, but I’m currently indisposed.”

Oswald approached the old man, looking at him the way a cat looks at a bird with a broken wing. “It’s such a pleasure to see you here, like this; and no one deserves this pleasure more than I do.” He slapped a bouquet of roses onto Carmine’s stomach, and pulled open a drawer filled with scalpels. “Did you know that Len Moore’s coherent now? It’s a miracle of modern science, what they can do with the right medications. He’s had quite a lot to say about how you were the one who ordered Loeb to pay him off.”

“The ravings of a madman, Oswald. It’d never stand up in court.” Carmine chuckled at his own joke.

“It won’t need to.” Oswald’s eyes flashed fire. “You’re responsible for what happened to Barbara’s parents; for Skolimsky kidnapping me; you put Jim’s life in danger.“

“Do you really think that after you kill me, you can take on Maroni all alone?”

“Your soldiers have left you to die. Your enemies have taken everything, except the manor house, because Victor and his associates held them off. He’s in possession of the house, and nothing more. So what use could you be to me?” Oswald held a scalpel up.

This time, the door slammed open. “Oswald?” Jim started towards him. “What the hell, give me that!”

Oswald stood his ground. “You don’t know what he’s done, Jim.”

“I know you’re not going to kill someone in cold blood right in front of me. Fuck the rest of it. Besides, we need him alive and there’s no time to argue. It’s better to have him in power than Maroni.” Jim was nose to nose with Oswald. “Put it down. Please.”

Oswald looked as if he might implode with rage, but the scalpel clanged as it hit the floor. Jim placed a hand on Oswald’s wrist. “Stay here and DON’T kill him!” He turned to Butch. “I hope you’re a good shot.” The two men exited; Oswald could hear the explosion of gunfire that followed.

____________

Selina hadn’t told Bruce about the woman with one hazel eye, and one blue one. Everything about the woman impressed her; best of all, she treated Selina as if she were an adult. Selina, who’d felt herself drifting, hoped she’d found a mentor. 

But now, all she could think of was that three of the four men Fish held captive were Barbara’s friends. She didn’t care about Falcone; but she knew that Barbara loved Jim and Oswald, and Harvey was a good friend as well. Seeing them hanging from their wrists, like hams at a butcher’s shop, made Selina feel guilty. Barbara’d taken Ivy to the doctor when she was sick; took care of her as if she were her own child. Barbara had been generous, kind, asked for nothing in return.

Fish and Maroni circled one another slowly.

Selina slipped behind the four bound men. She’d almost freed Jim when Fish shot Sal Maroni, right between the eyes, and the warehouse was plunged into chaos. While Maroni’s lieutenants and Fish’s followers engaged in a firefight, others scattered in all directions- including the hostages. Selina didn’t look back, as she scrambled out a broken window and swung herself up, onto the fire escape. Within minutes, she was making her way from one rooftop to another. 

As the hostages rounded a corner, Jim looked over his shoulder. He saw Oswald pick up a machine gun, and slip back inside. Cursing, he ran after him. He reached the doors in time to see Oswald running up a flight of metal stairs, shouting Fish’s name. One of Maroni’s men staggered to his feet and took aim at Jim, who crouched behind a crate and returned fire. By the time a bullet stopped the man’s heart, Jim had lost precious time. He rushed up the stairs, and heard Oswald before he saw him.

“Shoot her Butch! Shoot her!”

Butch was sobbing, useless. Oswald and Fish fought, clawing at each other, dangerously close to the edge of the roof. Fish lost her balance, and teetered backwards, clutching at Oswald. 

Jim reached them just as they went over the edge. He threw himself forward, barely managing to grab Oswald around the waist. Fish screamed as she fell, plummeting towards the dark waters below. Jim held on, even though he could feel himself slipping.

Then there were arms around him, pulling him backwards, hauling him and Oswald back up.

They sprawled on the rooftop, breathless and panting.

“I find it unspeakably rude that you started the party without me.” Victor looked at them calmly. “But I’ll forgive you, just this once.”

Oswald was so wet with sweat, he looked like a drowned rat. “I’m the king of Gotham, Victor. Tell him, Jim. The king. I’m the king.”

Victor’s expression, as usual, didn’t change. “Is he all right?” 

“No. Neither of us is all right.” Jim helped Oswald stand. “But we’re alive. I’ll settle for that.

____________

In the elevator, Oswald slumped against Jim. “Maroni’s gone. Fish’s gone. After all the times they tried to kill me, I’m here and they’re gone.”

Jim was so exhausted, speaking was an effort. “I can’t process any of this right now. All I want is to take a hot shower and go to bed.”

When they reached Barbara’s door, they knocked repeatedly. Finally, Harvey opened the door and stood in the doorway.

Jim tried to look past him. “What’s wrong?”

Harvey fumbled for words. “Montoya shouldn’t have talked to Barbara before she talked to you. She and Allen, they got a whole network of snitches, telling all kinds’a stuff. But she didn’t get a chance, and she thought Barbara could break it to you gently.” 

In the living room, Falcone and Barbara sat facing each other. Barbara was holding a gun.

Falcone spoke first. “Glad to see you, Jim. It appears your ex is holding a grudge.”

“That’s true.” Barbara’s hand remained steady. “I’m angry because of what you ordered Loeb to do, tricking Jim into taking on a case that could have gotten him killed. You’re responsible for my parents’ deaths. But that’s not all. You killed Jim’s father.”

Jim froze. “You’re confused; my father died in a car crash.” 

“There was no drunk driver. Just a hit man that walked away after he ran your dad’s car off the road. He made a deathbed confession this morning in Blackgate Penitentiary; even told how much he was paid and who paid him. Renee told me.” Barbara glared at Falcone. “Say it isn’t true.”

“Why should I lie? Jim’s father was my friend; I hated what I had to do. I swear, Jim, I didn’t know you were going to be in the car that night. But, your father made the wrong people angry; and if I’d refused, they would have found someone else to do it, and I’d be dead too; along with my entire family. I’ve never claimed to be a saint. I got where I am by being smart.” He turned his gaze to Oswald. “And that’s why you’re going to fail. You’re soft. You’ve let Jim change you; you should have killed me today.”

Jim sat down next to Barbara. “The wrong people. That’s what all this is about. They ordered you to kill my father; and to find a fall guy for the Waynes’ murder. They killed Dick Lovecraft before he could show me what he’d found out about them. They murdered Judge Lancaster when she failed them. They ordered you to make me take on Skolimsky; and when they weren’t pleased with how that worked out, they turned on you and started backing Maroni and Loeb. Now the only question is-who are they?”

Falcone laughed. “Do you really think I know? Do you think they’re stupid? I’ve been dealing with them my entire life, and I was wise enough to never try to find out who they are. They communicate through intermediaries. They possess wealth and power beyond anything you or I could even imagine. If you did know, what good do you think it’d do you?” He wiped his eyes. “Forgive me. It strikes me as absurd; haven’t you realized that if he’s successful at what he’s trying to do, they’ll be approaching Oswald?”

Jim thought about the books he and Alfred had hidden at Wayne manor. “They’re not Gods,” he said quietly. “They’re human. They’re vulnerable. And they can be taken down.” He put a hand on Barbara’s shoulder. “Let him go.” 

“Thank you, Jim; but where do you think I’m going?” 

“I don’t much care. You’re finished in Gotham, so go south, like you said. I don’t give a shit. I saved your life more than once today, so you owe me, but what good is that? Get out of here, before I change my mind and turn you over to Loeb.”

Falcone paused at the door. “I’m sorry about your father, Jim; I truly am. He was a good man.”

After he left, the room was silent; until Barbara noticed what Harvey was doing. “Are you drinking tequila straight out of the bottle?”

Harvey swallowed. “Yeah.” He handed her the bottle. “After what’s happened today, you got a better idea?”

“Actually, I do.” She went in the kitchen, and returned with limes and salt. “Cheers.” 

____________

By three am, the city was quiet. Jim and Oswald stood on Barbara’s balcony, watching the quarter moon make it’s way through a cloudy sky. 

“ For all the ugly things that happen here, it’s still beautiful isn’t it?” 

Jim looked at his fiancé with an evil grin. “It is. But if you’re the king of all this, I’m guessing you’ll need a different outfit.”

Oswald was wearing an over-sized tee shirt that came nearly to his knees, and a pair of boxers that hung at an odd angle, pinned at the side with a safety pin. “If I had a better choice than these old clothes you left here, I’d look much more regal. You know quite well I have perfectly elegant pajamas at home.”

Jim was dressed in a similar fashion, except his boxers fit. “You’ll be King Oswald Chesterfield Gordon-Cobblepot. And I’ll be Duke James Worthington Cobblepot- Gordon. We’ll found our own dynasty.”

“James Gordon, you stop teasing me right now.” Oswald wrapped his arms around Jim’s neck. “You wicked man. You probably brought me out here on this balcony to take advantage of me.”

“I’m shocked by such an unfounded accusation.” He kissed Oswald’s eyelids, gently; then kissed him full on the mouth, not quite so gently. “What I mean to do is carry you back into the bedroom and take advantage of you. If you give me permission to, that is.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment.

“Please.” Oswald whispered, and Jim picked him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Gun Crazy” is a 1950 film noir starring Peggy Cummins and John Dall as a couple obsessed with violence, guns, and each other. This film, more than any other in the noir cycle, expresses the cultural mythology that equates sex with violence. 
> 
> This is the last chapter of “The Narrow Margin, Book One”. My original goal was to keep this fic going as long as Gotham was on the air, but I’ve since decided that would make it unmanageably long: and, some readers expressed their reluctance to read a lengthy work in progress. 
> 
> After the next season begins, I’ll start writing “The Narrow Margin, Book Two.” It’ll pick up where the first work leaves off, and will tell the story of the further adventures of Oswald and Jim, their friends and foes, and the citizens of Gotham. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos, and to every one of you, who stuck with this story all the way through thirty chapters! You, dear readers, are the greatest!


End file.
